Sofia's knees hit the carpet so hard the pain shot up her thighs, but she didn't care.
The rosary beads were burning in her palm like live coals wrapped in light. She forced her fingers to move anyway.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"
Outside the chapel door, boots stopped.
Voices—male, clipped, official.
"Thermal shows one heat signature inside. Female, early twenties."
"Copy. Rules of engagement?"
"Prince Alessandro wants the sealed ones alive if possible. Tranquilizer first. Lethal only if she resists."
Sofia's voice cracked on "now and at the hour of our death."
The first decade finished.
The glowing beads cooled instantly, as if someone had poured ice water over her hand.
A ripple of pure silence rolled outward from her—like someone had muted the world.
The shouting outside stopped mid-word. The car alarms died. Even the wind held its breath.
She risked a glance at the door.
Through the frosted glass she saw two GEA enforcers in matte-black tactical gear frozen mid-step, mouths open, rifles half-raised.
Not frozen in time—frozen in terror.
Their eyes were wide, pupils blown, staring at something above the chapel roof that Sofia could not see.
One of them dropped his weapon. It clattered on the sidewalk like a gunshot in the silence.
He clawed at a tiny black mark freshly burned into his right hand—the Evolution Mark prototype. The skin around it was already blistering, turning gray.
The other enforcer screamed, a raw animal sound, and bolted down the street.
The spell broke. The first man collapsed to his knees, sobbing in a language Sofia didn't know.
She stared, heart hammering against her ribs.
The rosary had done that.
Ten Hail Marys and a Glory Be.
A new sound—running footsteps, lighter, frantic.
Someone slammed into the chapel door from the outside, pounding with both fists.
"Sophie! Sophie, open up, it's me!"
Diego.
She flew to the door, threw the deadbolt, and her brother stumbled inside smelling of smoke and blood.
Nineteen years old, shaved head, neck tattoos of the Virgin of Guadalupe and a now-useless gang sign, eyes wild.
He saw her face—saw the glowing cross on her forehead—and dropped to his knees right there on the welcome mat.
"You too," he whispered, voice breaking. "You're sealed too."
Sofia grabbed his shoulders. "What is happening out there?"
"They're rounding people up. National Guard, cops, some new UN guys in black. They set up a Mark center at the old Walmart on 43rd already. You walk in, they scan your hand, inject something. Takes ten seconds. If you say no…" He swallowed hard. "They shoot you in the street. I saw them do it to Mrs. Alvarez from the bodega. One second she was yelling about the devil, next second she was on the ground."
He pulled up his hoodie sleeve.
On his right hand, just below the wrist, a faint luminous cross glowed exactly like hers—only smaller, newer, still pink around the edges.
"I was hiding in the alley behind the parish when the trumpet hit," he said. "I thought I was too late. Thought I was damned for good. Then this appeared. And something… told me to run here."
Sofia looked past him. The street was filling with people now—some crying, some laughing hysterically, some already lining up at a glowing white tent two blocks down where men in black handed out bottled water and smiles.
A digital banner above the tent scrolled in English and Spanish:
THE EVOLUTION MARK
PEACE • SAFETY • UNITY
RECEIVE IT FREELY TODAY
Diego followed her gaze. "They say if you take it, the nightmares stop. The… things… stop whispering in your head."
"What things?"
He shuddered. "You don't want to know yet."
A low mechanical whine cut through the air. Drones—six of them, sleek black, red searchlights sweeping the street.
One hovered directly above the chapel, lens rotating toward the open door.
Diego yanked Sofia inside and slammed it shut.
"We can't stay here. They'll be back with more men."
"Where do we go?" Her voice sounded small even to herself.
Diego reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown scapular, the same one their abuela had forced him to wear the day he got out of juvie. The cord was frayed, but the cloth panels were pristine.
"I don't know," he said. "But wherever it is, we go together. Abuela always said the scapular was our parachute."
Sofia touched her own scapular—simple wool, kissed every morning at Mass. It felt heavier now, like it was made of lead and gold at the same time.
The drone outside spoke through a loudspeaker, calm male voice with a faint Italian accent.
"Sofia Isabella Morales and Diego Arturo Morales. You have been identified as sealed individuals. Exit the building with your hands raised. Resistance will result in immediate neutralization. You have thirty seconds."
Diego's face hardened. "They know our names."
Sofia looked at the altar. The Host still blazed, brighter than ever, painting the entire chapel gold.
She felt the rosary in her pocket pulse once—like a second heartbeat.
Twenty seconds.
She grabbed Diego's hand. "We're not surrendering."
Fifteen seconds.
She dragged him toward the sacristy door behind the altar—the one that led to the underground tunnel Father Ramirez had shown her once, "in case of fire."
Ten seconds.
They slipped through just as the front door exploded inward in a shower of splintered wood and stained glass.
Sofia pulled the sacristy door shut behind them and whispered into the sudden darkness, "Our Lady of Guadalupe… pray for us."
The rosary in her pocket flared again—bright enough to light the narrow stone stairs that led down into the bowels of the city.
Behind them, boots thundered across the chapel floor.
But the Morales siblings were already running.
And somewhere above, in the silence that followed a single decade of the Rosary, the first enforcer was still on his knees in the street, clawing the burning Mark off his hand with his own fingernails while he screamed a name that sounded a lot like mercy.
To be continued…