Draven's pov
Some days, I feel like I'm walking in a story written by someone else. One that keeps twisting the plot just when I think I have control.
Today was one of those days.
After hours at the compound handling reports and cleaning up yet another mess left behind by traitors too dumb to stay quiet and too greedy to live, I told my guards to stay back. I needed air. No tails. No noise.
I needed truth.
So I drove myself to a forgotten part of the city,where the roads were cracked like old bones and the air tasted like smoke and rust. The church was barely standing, a relic of another time. Ivy strangled the brick walls, and stained glass windows were nothing but jagged teeth against the setting sun.
But I knew this place. My father once brought me here,on a rainy afternoon, when I was too young to understand what monsters prayed for.
Father Elian greeted me with a silence that felt like home.
