The tomb was quiet now.
Perry stood alone beside the corpse, his coat catching dust as he moved slowly around the perimeter. The investigation barrier shimmered faintly across the archway, letting in the occasional flicker of torchlight from upstairs. Evi had gone to retrieve records. Quill and Marta were under temporary confinement in the sanctuary's west chamber.
The Saint's sealed sarcophagus remained untouched. Reverent. Untainted. It was the only thing in this room that hadn't lied yet.
Perry's boots clicked once against a loose tile. He stopped, crouched, and ran his fingers across the edge of the stone. It shifted slightly under pressure—just enough to suggest someone had lifted it. He pulled a thin steel probe from his sleeve and slid it beneath the groove.
The tile popped up with a hollow scrape.
Underneath was an empty gap. No deeper than a basket, lined with cloth.
Storage for contraband? A temporary hiding place?
No dust inside.
Used recently.
He replaced the tile, stood, and faced the body once again.
The man had no calluses on his palms. Not a laborer. No ink stains, either. Just... clean hands, clean cuffs, faint traces of red wax on the sleeve.
Red wax used in religious seals. Common in sanctum rituals.
He narrowed his eyes.
The glyph nearest the door flickered again.
Perry said nothing. He simply stood still for several long moments, watching the light dance.
---
Footsteps echoed on the stairs.
Evi returned with a thick, leather-bound volume and a suspiciously triumphant look.
"I found the priest's record log. Buried under six jars of candle wax and a bucket of guilt."
Perry flipped it open and scanned the recent entries. Sermons. Incense restocks. Nothing unusual—until five nights ago.
'Private repentance, lower sanctum. Initial Q.'
"Quill signed the log?" Evi asked.
Perry didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he walked to the nearest wall, pulled down a candle, and held it near the glyph seal. The mark pulsed again, a faint gold shimmer sliding across the runes.
"You said this glyph flickers when someone enters or leaves, right?" Evi asked.
"It's part of the sanctum security," Perry murmured. "It should only react once—either when entering or exiting."
He turned back to the glyph.
"But this one keeps reacting... even now. Which means it was tampered with."
---
Back upstairs, the sanctuary felt more like a confession booth with poor acoustics.
Brother Quill sat on a bench, eyes darting, hands wringing his robe into a knot. Marta leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, mouthing silent curses.
Perry stood between them.
"We've found signs of magical tampering," he said quietly. "A reactivated glyph. Wax transfer on the deceased's clothing. A tile lifted recently. And your signature, Brother Quill, in the logbook."
"I didn't kill anyone!" Quill burst out. "I—I didn't—He just wanted to use the tomb for penance."
"Who is he?"
Quill hesitated.
"I don't know his real name. He said... Reimund."
Perry didn't move.
"You mentioned that name before."
"No, I—I didn't—"
"You did. Earlier. When we were in the tomb. You said nothing about knowing him, but the name slipped out."
Quill looked down.
"He said he had debts. That he'd wronged someone powerful. He needed a place to hide, to pray. I... I pitied him."
"Pity requires proximity."
Quill stared at the floor.
"I let him in through the side entrance. The old stairs behind the choir loft. He said he'd only stay a night."
"But?"
"But when I checked in the morning, he was dead."
"You said nothing."
"I panicked! I thought it would ruin the Sanctum's name. I resealed the glyph. I told Father Vorn the ward looked fine and—he left for his pilgrimage that same day."
Perry glanced toward Marta.
She was frowning now, no longer smug.
"You resealed a sacred glyph?" she snapped. "Are you mad?"
Quill flinched.
"I had to! You would've blamed me—"
"I do blame you," she snapped.
---
Perry let the argument spiral for another minute before cutting in.
"Enough."
His voice wasn't loud. Just final.
He turned to Marta.
"You told me you didn't touch sacred tools."
"I don't."
"You have red wax under your nails."
Marta's eyes narrowed. "You checked my hands?"
"No. I checked the broom you were holding. It had flakes of wax along the grip."
She said nothing.
Perry continued. "You also store wax in your room. Same type used in glyph restoration. I didn't touch it—Evi found it."
"Still not illegal," Marta muttered.
"No. But lying about it is."
Marta bristled. "You think I killed him?"
"I think," Perry said slowly, "that you were told to clean up a mess. Not knowing it involved a corpse."
She didn't reply.
He turned back to Quill.
"You didn't kill him, Brother Quill. But you hid him. Lied to your superior. Tampered with church seals. And involved someone else without warning."
"I didn't mean—"
"Intent isn't the measure. Result is."
---
Back in the tomb, Evi lit another candle and handed Perry a small box.
"Same wax formula. Confirmed."
He nodded. "Marta mixed it, Quill used it. But that doesn't tell us how Reimund died. No wounds. No struggle. No signs of poisoning or magical discharge."
Evi looked toward the sarcophagus. "What if the Saint... didn't like visitors?"
Perry didn't smile, but something in his eyes flickered.
"No. That's too clean. The cause of death isn't divine. It's human."
He turned slowly, surveying the chamber once more.
"Which means the killer had time. And calm. And trusted Reimund to be still."
---
As they walked out, Evi scribbled notes beside him.
"You think Father Vorn is involved?"
"He's gone. Too convenient. He knew the glyph was disturbed but didn't say anything."
"Maybe he didn't notice."
"He always checks the seal during Silence Week."
Evi frowned. "So what now?"
Perry stopped halfway up the stairs.
"I'm going to stage a reenactment."
Evi blinked. "A what?"
Perry tilted his head. "A demonstration. Every lie has a shape. I want to see who flinches when it casts a shadow."
"You're insane."
"I filed that too."
---
That night, Perry sat alone in the tomb, watching the glyph by candlelight.
It flickered again.
But no one had entered.
He rose slowly.
Turned.
And stared into the dark.
"Hiding in sacred places only works," he said softly, "if the Saint isn't watching."