A section of the wall was opening.

Slowly, on some old hidden hinge, a slab of stone and plaster swung inward, and out of the black gap behind it came a smell of earth and cold and, under it, that same sweetness — and then a figure, stooped, carrying a small bottle and a folded cloth and, tucked in her fingers, a strip of pale medical tape identical to the one Inmaculada had found on the floor.

It was Sister Soledad.

“Stop where you are,” Inmaculada said, and her voice did not shake, though everything in her did.