The word chosen followed me everywhere.
Into the dining hall.
Into the laundry room.
Into my sleep.
I watched the empty bed again that night.
Miriam had slept there for six years.
Transferred.
That was the word they used.
But nothing about this place felt like transfer.
It felt like disappearance.
Sunday morning came with forced smiles and polished shoes.
The chapel was filled with incense and fake holiness.
Father Michael stood at the altar in his long white robe, his voice smooth and controlled.
"God sees everything," he said.
I wondered if that was true.
Because if God saw everything, why was He silent?
Aria sat beside me, hands folded, eyes forward. Perfect posture. Perfect expression.
She looked like she belonged here.
I looked like I wanted to burn it down.
After mass, Sister Perry pointed at me.
"Confession."
My stomach dropped.
"I didn't do anything," I muttered.
"That's exactly the problem," she snapped.
The confession booth was small and suffocating.
Dark wood.
Thin screen.
The smell of old breath and candle smoke.
I knelt.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," I whispered automatically.
There was a pause.
Then his voice.
Calm.
Low.
"Have you, Taya?"
My heart skipped.
He never used our names during confession.
"Yes," I said quickly.
"What is your sin?"
I swallowed. "I… I asked questions."
A small chuckle came from the other side of the screen.
"Curiosity is dangerous."
Silence.
Then—
"Tell me," he said softly, "why are you so interested in the girls who leave?"
My blood ran cold.
How did he know?
"I'm not," I lied.
"You are."
His tone changed.
Not kind.
Not holy.
Something else.
"You must learn obedience," he continued. "Rebellion opens doors to darkness."
My palms began to sweat.
"I just wanted to know if Miriam was okay."
"She is exactly where she needs to be."
The way he said it made my stomach twist.
"And where is that?" I asked before I could stop myself.
The silence this time was heavy.
Then—
"That is not for you to worry about."
When I stepped out of the booth, my knees were weak.
Aria was waiting near the back of the chapel.
"What did he say?" she asked.
"He knows," I whispered.
She didn't ask how.
She didn't look surprised.
She just nodded.
"I told you to stop asking questions."
"How long have you known?" I demanded quietly.
Her jaw tightened.
"Long enough."
"Long enough for what?"
"For them to start noticing you."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Them?"
Aria glanced toward the altar where Father Michael was speaking quietly with Sister Perry.
"You think this place is just an orphanage?"
My throat felt dry.
"What is it then?"
She leaned closer.
"A system."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At exactly midnight, I heard it again.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Stopping outside our door.
This time, the handle moved.
Just slightly.
I held my breath.
The door didn't open.
But I heard something slide under it.
A piece of paper.
The footsteps faded.
Aria sat up immediately.
She reached the door before I could.
She picked up the paper.
For the first time since I've known her…
Her hands shook.
"What is it?" I whispered.
She didn't answer.
She just handed it to me.
Three words were written in black ink:
You are next.