Everyday Amon sees Robin praying. He can't figure it out.
Her rosary slips between her fingers, moving almost in time with the movement of her lips. He can't hear words, but he can hear the soft sighs of her breath as she whispers words. Sometimes it's Latin. Sometimes it's Italian. Once he could have sworn it was Japanese. The words don't matter, just the click of the beads.
He mused to Nagira once, quietly so she couldn't hear: "How can she keep praying now? How did she keep her faith?"
Nagira just smiled.
He doesn't understand, but he still watches.