The troops and giusseppe escaped in the night.
Though their departure stirred whispers through the narrow streets, the bishop and the city's elites—consumed with restoring order in Santa Fe—had neither the time nor the clarity to pursue a the general who had lost the Church's favor, nor the undisciplined soldiers who followed him. By the time certainty replaced rumor, it was already too late. He had fled south with most of his force, vanishing into the humid darkness that swallowed roads, loyalties, and names alike.
Only then did they hurry toward the bishop.
The church of Santa Fe stood in ruin.
What had once been the sanctuary of God now smelled of cold ash, damp stone, and wet rot rising from charred beams soaked by mist. The heavy oak doors had been reduced to jagged black stumps. Inside, the nave opened into a cavern of shadow where silence pressed against the lungs.
