Everyone else on the investigative team had commented on the gouged-out eye. Sometimes the left, sometimes the right. They guessed he had some deformity that compelled him to blind his victims. But if that was the case, why not both? Then she studied the autopsy photos and noted that in addition to scooping out the eye, he also carved a triangular notch below the cavity. It was the shape, she pointed out, of a keyhole. He must see himself as a kind of key. But where the door led, she didn’t know. Heaven and hell, she supposed.

The sarge had instructed the detectives to focus on faith. Contact local churches to see if they had any extremist members they might be worried about. Scour social media and all the Jesus-y message boards to see if there was anyone who seemed particularly . . . apocalyptic. The trouble was, since the meteor strike, evangelism was on the rise. Churches of every denomination were booming with new members who wanted some way to make sense of a world whose rules were suddenly shifting. And the fastest-growing religious group was known as the Roofless Church. Some called them a doomsday cult. Some called them metal-eaters. They worshipped—and consumed—omnimetal. Their eyes glowed a starry blue and they ended every prayer with “Metal is.”

Nora had experienced her own crisis of faith. Every Sunday she spoke to her mother, and the conversation always began with a question: Had she been to church? No, the answer had been for many years. No, she hadn’t. The response was always a weighty sigh. Sometimes they moved on, but sometimes her mother laid into her about the power of prayer and how they were never going to find little Mia without the good Lord’s help.

Nora understood why people belonged to congregations. It was the same reason they cheered on sports teams: they wanted to feel like they were part of something bigger. But she has never experienced anything other than a disconnect in church. She just wasn’t hardwired for it. She operated on evidence. She liked detective novels, not fairy tales. But you can’t simply forget eighteen years of Bible study. The hymns still echoed in her head, the taste of Styrofoam-cup coffee still lingered on her tongue, and when her eyes caught the light, the orange starburst of color around the pupils reminded her of stained-glass windows. She had never actively spoken against religion—until now.