Silas stepped into the nave, pulling off a mud-spattered leather greatcoat. He looked entirely out of place beneath the soaring, vaulted ceilings and the serene gaze of the painted saints. His face was gaunt, his eyes rimmed with the dark circles of a man who hadn’t slept in three days, yet there was a manic energy in the way he moved.
Beatrice leaned on her broom, studying him. She had known Silas since they were children in this very village, long before he had left to join the capital's elite investigative force, and long before he had returned broken, cynical, and obsessed with the dark underbelly of the city. [S7E7] Untainted by Filth
"Time is a luxury for those with clean hands, Sister," Silas replied, tossing his coat over the back of a rear pew. "I have spent the last seventy-two hours in the belly of the beast, and I assure you, it is not a punctual place." Silas stepped into the nave, pulling off a
"You are late, Silas," she said, her voice flat and devoid of the warmth she usually reserved for the parish faithful. Beatrice leaned on her broom, studying him
The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary creaked open, admitting a slice of thin, gray morning light. Sister Beatrice paused her sweeping, the bristles of her broom frozen against the stone floor. She did not need to look up to know who had entered. The scent of ozone, rain, and expensive, unwashed linen always preceded him.