Beatrice looked at the ledger in his hand, then at the fierce, unyielding light in his eyes. She set her broom aside and walked over to him, reaching out to gently touch the edge of his sleeve.
Silas stopped at the altar rail. He looked up at the great stained-glass window above them, where the morning light was finally beginning to pour through, shattering into brilliant pools of crimson, sapphire, and gold on the floor.
"At what cost, Silas?" Beatrice asked, her eyes tracing a fresh, angry red scar that ran along his jawline. "Look at you. You are bleeding, exhausted, and hunted. You live in the filth you fight."
"The Bishop is asking questions about your presence here," she warned him softly. "He says a man of your... reputation... does not belong in a place dedicated to purity. He says you bring the grime of the world in with you."
He walked down the center aisle, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically. "The case is closed. I found the ledger. Every corrupt official, every blackguard who traded human lives for gold in the docks—their names are in here."
He placed his hand on the smooth, cool wood of the altar, leaving no trace of dirt behind.
"I am still here. My purpose is still whole. I am untainted by their filth."
