The Bonesaw Vespers

Flanders, February 1917. The guns never stop. At Penhaligon War Hospital, Dr. Doris Threadgold has spent two years patching together the broken bodies the trenches keep sending back—until Friday night, when the operating tent becomes a tomb. The morphine ledger is short. The bonesaw is gone. Around you: a chaplain wrestling with faith, a shell-shocked orderly whose hands won't stop shaking, a matron who runs this place like a fortress, three nurses who've each seen things that changed them. Each harbors a secret. Each had reason to fear the woman now lying dead. In a place where mercy and murder have already become difficult to tell apart, you must read the evidence left behind—the ledger, the tent, the testimonies—and determine which secret was worth killing for.