The darkness pressed against my ribs like a coffin lid. Cold, stale, unmoving. For a moment I thought I was still on the pavement outside Mother Oak, staring up at the sky as it swallowed me whole. Then the ache in my lungs reminded me I was breathing.

  Barely.

  I rolled onto my side. The surface beneath me was thin and uneven, a cot that had outlived its dignity. The air smelled of rot and wet timber, the kind of decay that seeps into wood and never quite leaves. Somewhere nearby, something creaked. Not footsteps. Just old beams remembering their age.

  I pushed myself upright. The room swam, my muscles hollowed out by the gas. The last thing I remembered was Surya’s voice and the sweet sting in my throat.

  The door ahead stood half open. Beyond it, a narrow corridor stretched into shadow, plaster peeling in tired curls from the walls. The floorboards sagged under my weight as I leaned against the wall and dragged myself forward. Each step felt borrowed.

  A faint current of cool air slipped through from the far end, carrying the scent of wax and smoke. Not rot. Not mold. Something cleaner.

  I reached the door at the end of the corridor and pressed it open. The hinges answered with a long, tired screech.

  Candlelight spilled over me.

  The vast body of Mother Oak Church rose before my eyes, beams arching overhead like the ribs of some ancient beast. The pews stood in quiet rows. The altar flickered in soft gold.

  I gripped the wooden railing at the top of the stairs and made my way down, each step echoing too loud in the hollow silence.

  “Oh,” a voice said from the nave below, calm as a winter grave. “So you have decided to rejoin the living.”

  Father Styward stood near the altar, lighting candles one by one. The flame caught his face in pieces, carving shadows into the lines of his expression.

  “Forgive the accommodations,” he continued without looking at me. “The unused wing is the only place in this church that does not invite questions. An unconscious officer tends to invite many.”

  My throat felt scraped raw. “When… did you find me?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He placed the taper back into its holder and finally turned, eyes steady, unreadable.

  “Just before midnight,” he said. “You were not alone.”

  The church fell quiet again, but the silence no longer felt empty. It felt deliberate.

  I let my eyes drift over the nave again. Mold crept along the lower stones, spreading in dark veins through ancient mortar. The church was aging the same way the city was, eaten from within.

  “Mr. Elmroot,” Styward said, stepping closer, his voice measured. “You seem troubled.”

  His gaze did not waver.

  “It appears you were meeting someone,” he continued. “He did not strike me as friendly.”

  My breath caught. “You saw us.”

  “Yes,” he replied calmly. “From the rectory window. A late night meeting in our garden tends to draw attention.”

  There was no apology in his tone. Only quiet authority.

  “Anyway, stay,” he said, turning slightly toward the great doors. “I opened the church once. I am not going to do it twice. It is a rule to keep the doors closed at night to keep the Darkness at bay.”

  “I cannot stay,” I said, the weakness still clinging to my limbs. “Let me go. I must go. I have to stop him.”

  He studied me then, something colder settling behind his eyes.

  “Why should I?” he asked in that same controlled voice. “Surya is only bringing justice to his family. A justice you and your law forgot to deliver.”

  The words struck deeper than any accusation.

  He exhaled slowly.

  “I have taken an oath,” he said. “So I will give you a chance. Tell me why you must stop him. Convince me. And perhaps I will open that door. Perhaps I will even give you a hint.”

  My mind searched for something noble. Something righteous. There was nothing clean there.

  “Because I must,” I said finally. “I must do what I did not do back then. If not for redemption, then at least to lessen the weight of the sin I carry.”

  The silence stretched between us.

  “That is not the answer I expected,” he said at last. “But it is an honest one.”

  He moved toward the entrance. The iron lock scraped as he drew it back.

  “I shall open the door for you.”

  Cold night air slipped inside as the doors parted. I stepped out into it, steadying myself.

  Behind me, his voice carried one last time.

  “Now hear this, my child. The shadow is going to fall on the blind enforcer, blind but dark.”

  The doors closed.

  The clue hung in the air long after the sound faded.