Camilo crossed himself so quickly that his hand trembled.
“No… no, that can’t be.”
Camilo remained motionless.
For a few seconds, neither man was able to look away from those words.
DO NOT PERFORM THE AUTOPSY.
WAIT TWO HOURS.
WHAT YOU NEED IS IN MY HABIT POCKET.
Fonseca took a deep breath.
—Close the door.
—That?
—The door, Camilo.
The young man obeyed.
The clanking noise seemed too loud inside the morgue.
Fonseca looked at the body again.
—Who brought the nun?
—Two men from the convent. They said they found her in her room.
—Names?
Camilo shook his head.
—I did not ask.
Fonseca looked at him harshly.
—Then start asking.
He approached the stretcher again.
The woman appeared to be in her twenties. There were no visible injuries. There was no blood. There were no signs of violence.
But those words…
They were not written on the skin.
It seemed like they had appeared from within.
Fonseca brought the surgical lamp closer and examined the inscription.
The letters had minimal depth, like small scarred cuts.
—This couldn’t be done after dying —he murmured.
—Because?
—Because the skin would no longer react like that.
Camilo paled.
—Then someone wrote it to her when she was alive.
Fonseca did not respond.
With tweezers he carefully lifted the edge of the habit.
—Here.
There was a small pocket hidden inside the fabric.
He put his hand in.
His fingers touched something hard.
He took out an object wrapped in a piece of white cloth.
It was a key.
Ancient.
Black.
And it had a symbol engraved on it that Fonseca immediately recognized.
A cross.
But it was not a normal cross.
It had four equal arms and, in the center, a small circle.
Camilo approached.
—What opens?
Fonseca looked at the key for several seconds.
—I don’t know.
Then they heard a knock.
Knock.
The two raised their heads.
The sound had come from the cold room.
Camilo backed away.
—Doctor…
Knock.
This time it was stronger.
Fonseca looked at the metal doors.
—There’s someone there.
