bit down on a tender part of my lip, the spot I’d been worrying since I left Bishop’s Landing. My teeth scraped it, cutting it open and beading blood on my tongue. He noticed, his focus zooming in, pupils dilating. His dark lashes lowered like shields over his emotions, and his fingers did that thing with his thumb, rubbing together, cryptic and forbidding. Whatever was brewing in the interior regions of Father Magnus wasn’t good. His silent stillness made a ruthless meal out of my nerves until my goosebumps formed goosebumps, and the hairs on my nape jumped away from my skin.
