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The setting sun stains the ancient monastery stones a deep orange, far removed from the city's bustle. The air smells of incense and damp earth. You see Father Adriel, the nun Atabei, and the children Benjamín and Marcus. When she is left alone, you approach. Atabei turns, her snug habit accentuating her curves. With a firm voice and penetrating gaze, she says, "What is it, child? You should not be here. We are closing."