Chapter 5:

The Name That Cannot Leave

Dominion Protocol Volume 10: The Templar Conspiracy


The train cut through the French countryside, an unbroken line of motion, weaving past ancient vineyards and distant stone villages. Jessica sat by the window, her reflection blending into the blur of green fields and rolling hills. Her mind wasn’t on the landscape. It was on the folder in her lap. The Vatican records. The ones with her name.

She traced her thumb along the edge of the parchment, a list of names spanning centuries, repeating in a cycle that made no sense.

Jessica Sanchez.

1415. 1592. 1740. 1784. 1857. 1923.

She turned the page. There was one last entry, 1992. The year she was born. She exhaled slowly, pressing the folder shut. She wasn’t ready for this yet.

Across from her, Olivia sat with her tablet, scrolling through old Vatican correspondences, cross-referencing historical events with names from the document. Leanna sat beside her, arms crossed, gaze sharp, watching the other passengers as if expecting trouble.

Jessica glanced at her. “You don’t have to keep scanning for threats.”

Leanna didn’t look away. “We don’t know who else is looking for the same thing.”

Jessica didn’t argue. Leanna was right. Whatever this was, they weren’t the only ones who wanted to find it.

* * *

The old city of Avignon was a maze of worn stone streets, sun-bleached plazas, and towering medieval walls. The Palace of the Popes loomed above them, casting its long shadow across the Rhône River.

Jessica had been here before, years ago on another case, chasing a different ghost. It felt different now. Heavier. She wasn’t here for a job this time. She was here for herself.

Leanna unfolded a map. “The monastery is outside the city, about twenty kilometers west. Remote.”

Olivia adjusted her bag. “Let’s assume no one wants us finding it.”

Jessica nodded. They never did.

* * *

The monastery was half-forgotten, hidden at the end of a long, winding road lined with cypress trees. The air smelled of damp stone and wild lavender. The building itself was intact but worn by time, thick wooden doors, ivy creeping over the old walls, the bell tower standing against the sky like a relic from another world.

Jessica stepped forward, pushing the doors open. The scent of old parchment and candle wax greeted her. Inside, the monastery was still active, not abandoned, but quiet.They weren’t alone.

A man in a simple dark cassock stood near the altar, waiting. An old priest. He had the look of someone who had been expecting them.

Jessica slowed her steps.

The priest inclined his head. “Jessica Sanchez.”

A chill slid down her spine. Not ‘Madame.’ Not ‘Mademoiselle.’ He said her full name.

She stopped a few feet from him, voice even. “You knew we were coming.”

A slight smile. “Some doors only open for those who are meant to walk through them.”

Jessica narrowed her eyes. “And you decide who’s meant to?”

“No,” the priest said softly. “The past does.”

Behind her, Olivia muttered, “That’s not cryptic at all.”

Jessica ignored her. “You know what I’m looking for.”

The priest turned, gesturing toward the back of the monastery. “Come with me.”

Leanna exchanged a glance with Jessica. Silent agreement. Stay on guard.

* * *

The corridor was cool, lined with thick stone, the flickering light of wall sconces casting elongated shadows. The priest led them through a heavy wooden door, into a room that felt untouched by time. Shelves of manuscripts. Scrolls. A single wooden table in the center.

Jessica stepped forward. The priest gestured toward a single leather-bound volume resting on the table.

“The answers you seek,” he said. Then quietly added, “You know what happens to those who remember too much. It is not always a kindness.”

Jessica didn’t move right away pondering the monk’s words. This was too easy. She exhaled, then stepped forward, pulling the book open. The pages were yellowed, brittle with age. She flipped through carefully, scanning the dense Latin script. Then she saw it. A list.

It was a list of names. Each followed by a year.

She ran her fingers lightly down the page—until she reached hers.

Jessica Sanchez – 1415, 1592, 1740, 1784, 1857, 1923.

Her breath stilled. Her hand hovered over the page. The silence pressed against her like gravity. She read the words next to her name.

“Exire non permittitur.”

It translated simply as not permitted to leave. Her fingers curled into the edge of the paper.

The priest’s voice was calm. “You were never meant to leave.”

Jessica looked up, meeting his gaze.

Her voice came out level. “Then why am I still here?”

Leanna shifted beside Jessica, quietly sliding her coat open just enough to reveal the butt of her pistol. Not for the priest, for whatever might come after.

The priest smiled faintly. “Because this time, someone let you go.”

Silence stretched. Then Olivia, voice sharp: “What the hell does that mean?”

The priest sighed, closing the book gently. “It means you were not the first, and you will not be the last.”

Jessica held his gaze. “And you’ve been watching?”

“We have been protecting,” he corrected.

A pause. Then he said, “We are not your enemy, Jessica.”

She exhaled slowly, stepping back. She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

She turned toward Leanna and Olivia. “We’re done here.”

The priest nodded, as if he had expected that. Before they left, he said one last thing: “You will come back, Jessica. One way or another, you always do.”

Jessica didn’t look back. But the words followed her down the corridor, clinging like smoke. She always came back. That’s what scared her most.

Mara
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