β‘ βββββββββββββββββββ π₯ππ€π¨πππ | hunter of sinners. [sleeptoken x badomens] | ONE | β‘
So I say, walk by the Spirit,Β and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. | Galatians 5:16 β Λβ βΉ
The old temple remained silent, forgotten at the edge of the dirt road. Walls covered in moss, broken stained-glass windows that allowed the moon to infiltrate its silver light, pews coated in dust. A shattered altar rested at the back, like a carcass of abandoned faith.
Those who lived in the region preferred to take the long way through the busy road of Mode Castle, a rural township of Northpass, and risk fighting against the frightening frequency with which cars sped along the slippery track back to the city rather than follow the firm ground of the shortcut on Prayer Street.
Some residents said that soil was cursed. After all, never in the cityβs history, not even in the memory of the most devout Catholic, had a church born so prosperous when inaugurated by Father Joseph II in 1962, been abandoned without an apparent reason. The faithful simply stopped showing up. With each mass, fewer faces in the pews. Until not a single one remained to help the priest close the doors when he finally decided to leave the city.
And that was when one of the most famous legends of the town of only 12,000 inhabitants in Texas was born.
Joseph II gave interviews to more than 140 newspapers, including radio channels, visited 4 continents, and gathered more than 2 million people in total over the years, lecturing about his journey in Catholicism and how he made the decision to abandon his first parish. Always shaken, he emphasized that it had not been an easy arrival in Northpass, but that leaving was even harder when he faced the reality before his eyes: the city was already rotten to the roots with sin.
As if bound by invisible ropes and swimming against a current of quicksand, the residents no longer fought against what seemed to be their destiny β they simply accepted with open arms whatever was given to them. All were surrendered to pleasure, corruption, greed, gluttony, excessive consumption, without realizing that the consequence was the contamination of generations.
Father Joseph II even declared in an interview with Good Morning America that the populationβs sudden disinterest in salvation created space for a new movement β one that, according to him, would gain ground intentionally. He could not explain exactly what was emerging, only said that at that moment he decided to abandon the parish. Still, he assured that Northpass was about to face a turning point in its history: the definitive entry into a long battle against that which, for years, he had preached from the pulpit without ever truly witnessing β evil.
Plague. Contamination. Corrosion of their minds. Cleansing.
He could not even predict in those visions where he claimed to hear the voice of the Lord Jesus Christ, he could only guarantee that the inhabitants would soon have answers to those questions.
It was there, on yet another night during that week among the ruins of the sacred, that two bodies met.
Clothes were hurriedly discarded, scattered across the cold floor. His breath weighed against her neck, gasping, hungry, and the womanβs muffled laughter echoed like an intimate mockery against the silence of the house of God.
It didnβt matter to them what that place once represented. In fact, the idea of having sex with someone so illicit was insanely exciting to both of them, and beyond the member she was rubbing against through his clothes growing even harder, the girl seemed to gasp from the tip of her firm breast down to the tangled entrails of her shamelessness.
βSomeone might see usβ¦β she whispered in a false tone of reproach, but did not pull away. It was impossible to commit such an absurdity when his hands seemed more like magnets, marking every curve of her body damp with sweat by the fingerprints still dirty with earth.
But she was like that β as if a haunting spirit, obsessed with filth, had settled inside her. Always crawling in search of what was most unsanitary: bad and questionable men who could sate her momentary desire, cruel friendships, tasteless alcoholic liquids. All in pursuit of a pleasure that never seemed to be enough.
She always wanted more. More. More. More.
Insatiable.
That was the word that defined her.
βThatβs why it feels so good,β the man replied, pressing her against him and moaning low in her ear when her lips brushed against the jewel on his ring finger.
The old pews creaked with the weight of movement and the friction of bodies. He penetrated her, gripping her neck firmly with a single hand, staring through the damp strands covering the young girlβs face β a girl young enough to be his daughter β as if it were his last fuck of his entire miserable existence, while she moaned loudly, her heavy breasts bouncing as if the city were occupied by only the two of them.
The moon cut through the broken stained glass and painted their skin with shards of light. The forbidden became ecstasy, and the more fear surrounded them, the more their flesh burned.
Unrecognized by law, the infamous lovers liked to sneak into the most unsanitary places Northpass could offer. Considering the town had empty alleys, abandoned houses, dark corners, forests so thick with trees that even sunlight could not touch the ground, rotting the soil, their favorite place remained the old church that had once been Father Joseph IIβs parish.
That explained the priestβs disgust for such people.
But that night, something changed.
A distinct sound β not theirs, not the windβs β dragged across the walls. A dry crack, like splitting wood, echoed from the ceiling. Her laughter died in her throat, and her naked body shifted from hot to cold in seconds. A shiver ran down her spine, causing a slight tremor across the shallow bed of her skin.
He lifted his eyes, trying to listen.
βIt mustβve been an animalβ¦β he said, though his voice didnβt hold its own certainty. βCome on, come on, darlingβ¦ I was almost there.β
From the shadows of the altar, a presence rose. First only a silhouette, then the clear shape of someone standing in the darkness. The face was hidden, only the outline of a motionless figure visible. The countenance remained concealed by a kind of mask, marked with a symbol on the forehead and corroded in golden fragments crumbling around the lips β painted black, the same darkness that dyed his cloak, as if he were just another piece of the ruins.
βWhoβs there?!β the man shouted, though his voice wasnβt as firm as he believed it to be.
The reply came low, solemn, like a liturgical whisper:
βMarriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pureβ¦β
The silence that followed was suffocating. The coupleβs hearts pounded.
The figure stepped forward, and the moon revealed the blade in his hand. The creatureβs voice carried a visible contempt, but the satisfaction of seeing the look of desire before him twist into terror and pleading made one corner of his dark lips curl in a gesture of compassion.
ββ¦but fornicators and adulterersβ¦ God will judge.β
Her scream was the last sound to cut through the church as the blade pierced her skull.
Blood splattered across the cracked altar, staining in red what remained of forgotten devotion, and the hoarse howl of the man β when he finally realized an unconscious body lay beneath him β was music to the killerβs ears.
And in the shadows, the calm breath of the judge blended with eternal silence.
The smell of dust and damp wood clung to the air of the old church. He watched from the darkness, motionless, with the patience of one who no longer belonged to time. His eyes fixed on the couple, his breath held, his body in absolute silence.
They were blind, seeing nothing beyond the flesh. Every muffled laugh, every profane moan, was a blasphemy against the walls that once sustained prayers.
He tightened the blade in his grip. The cold of the metal against his skin was a reminder that he was there to serve, not to feel.
βLust.β
The word echoed in his mind like a sentence. He didnβt need to think; it was already written. The decision was not his β he was only the instrument.
He stepped forward, letting the old floorboards creak. He saw the fright in their eyes, the sudden interruption of pleasure. The hesitation before fear. It was always like this: at first, confusion. Then, disbelief. At last, the inevitable panic.
The words left his mouth like prayer, each syllable engraved in him since childhood:
βThe marriage bed kept pureβ¦ the immoral and adulterersβ¦ God will judge.β
The man wanted to move toward him, but the gesture was useless. A dry cut, swift, precise. Hot blood gushed, splattering over the decayed pews. The body collapsed, still twitching, and the whisper came as a plea.
βNoβ¦ please, no!β
The killer tilted his head, as if listening to something beyond her, a louder, invisible voice. The blade rose again.
The womanβs high-pitched scream tore through the night, but only for an instant. Then, only the wet sound of flesh giving way.
He smiled. There was pleasure. Beyond the silence after the sacrifice.
He wiped the blade on her dress, now stained red. Approached the shattered altar and laid the weapon upon the cold stone, like an offering.
He left unhurried, disappearing into the same shadow from which he was born, leaving behind the corrupted temple, now redeemed by blood.
The bell of the small church of Northpass had not tolled in years. The wind made it creak, and the sound resembled a rusty lament spreading through the cold morning.
That sound hadnβt been heard by them for more than fifteen years, since the church had given way to the marks of abandonment. No resident crossed the limits of that fence. They refused to approach the churchyard, even at the edge of their curiosity about what might have happened; some preferred to rely on imagination and draw rough conclusions.
The real estate crisis had struck Mode Castle with devastating force. The few inhabitants remaining around the old church, nestled in the coastal region and far from the center, did not live there by choice, but by obligation β unable to sell their houses, even for far below market value. Their routine was a stark contrast to life in Northpass: in Mode Castle, cell service barely reached, and even an emergency call took too long to be answered.
When the police finally arrived to cordon off the site, it was already nearly noon.
First came complaints of noise and stench emanating from the temple. Then, of the broken gate. When the officers finally entered, the silence they found was not of abandonment, but of death.
The crime scene did not take long to reveal clear signs of tampering. The victims were arranged unnaturally, in a grotesque staging that defied the logic of death. The man lay over the woman, both naked, their bodies soaked in blood. A single iron stake pierced them both, binding them together like meat skewered on a brutal spit.
Because of the expertsβ delay, the blood had already dried, and the birds had feasted overnight on what was still fresh. The girl displayed a deep wound on the side of her head β a blow that, according to the female officer, had probably caused her death. Hard, however, to confirm precisely, as the hole had widened under the voracious appetite of crows, who gnawed the flesh until exposing remains of brain matter scattered around the lesion.
Sergeant Seven pushed his hat back from his forehead and turned his eyes away. Not even he, with twenty years on the force, could stare for long. In the city of Northpass and even its neighboring towns, the climate was always calm, and rarely did something so striking pull the police out of their booths.
Rowdy youths, drunk men pissing in the street, cheerleader girls brawling, cats lost in the woods. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing disturbing.
βChristβ¦β murmured one of the recruits, holding his stomach.
Seven did not answer. He walked to the altar, stepping over blood traces that looked more like ritual markings than a struggle.
There, upon the cold stone, he found the blade. Clean.
And carved into the marble with the very tip of the knife was a single symbol. An incomplete circle, crossed by a vertical line. Beside it, in firm letters, the word:
Lust.
The officer swallowed hard. He turned to the others, trying to keep his voice steady:
βThis was no ordinary crime.β
The sound of sirens spread through the street, drawing the curious. The first heads began to cluster closer to the church entrance. Frightened looks, whispers, the murmur of news already spreading from house to house.
Northpass, until then a forgotten town, had just awakened to something that would never again fall asleep.
The city of pleasure. Thatβs how it was known, both among the local youth and the tourists who came from all over the world.
Sex, the wildest parties, irresistible girls and boys, drink combinations never before imagined β only Northpass could offer such intensity. On social media, its advertising lifted the cityβs reputation to absurd heights. During vacation season, the hotel industry went up in flames under the frantic demand for lodging.
βBetter than an hour in Ibiza,β they said. βItβs the taste of a night in Ironland, capital of Northpass.β
On any given Tuesday at the Jaxβs society pool, the loud noise and the large crowd of people dancing with a small piece of paper under their tongues was nothing unusual.
The Jax, at first, were just another fraternity among many at Northpass University. But the heirs took their parentsβ places, and generation after generation the hierarchy grew stronger until it stretched far beyond the student boundaries. They took over the streets, the businesses, the events. Everything carried their face, their mark, their shadow. Everything, somehow, belonged to them.
Responsible for attracting tourists and spinning the economy with constant parties, they earned a freedom that wasnβt well regarded by the rest of the inhabitants. To the common folk, they were nothing but the source of chaos: the filth, the noise, and the trails of decadence they always left behind.
How could they sleep, knowing those people lived in constant penance, trapped in an endless wheel that charged them for their sins? Legend says it was just one of the plagues cast by Father Joseph IIβ¦
But in truth, it was much simpler: they didnβt care.
The knocks on the door didnβt seem to bother Nickβs comfort as he leaned back on the couch, arms resting behind his neck. He relaxed while a girl whose name he didnβt even know kissed him along his abdomen until reaching his jaw, not taking long before stealing his lips in a thirsty kiss.
Between the tangle of tongues and the soft hand sliding over his bicep, he moaned into the girlβs mouth, trying at least to control his back from arching as a hot mouth sucked his cock inside with a dense pull that left not a single part of his hard length untouched. The boy whose name Nick also didnβt bother to learn was good with his mouth, that much he knew, since he remembered hearing about him before and his professional art of sucking off the whole team.
Fantastic.
This was definitely the life he had asked God for. Nick loved sex more than he loved eating; he could easily live his whole life locked in a room, shifting between pussies and asses, as long as he had at least a glass of water. It didnβt matter if it was man or woman β he liked to have fun, to give and take pleasure, to cum and to make others cum. What could he do? Thatβs just who he was.
Kneeling on the back of the couch, the girl spread her legs and placed her perfectly wet pussy on Nickβs lips. He held her with his arms, lying against the rest, and there couldnβt be a better position to be sucked off by the soft mouth of the nameless guy while fingering her and helping with his tongue.
βShitβ¦β someone whispered, whom he assumed to be the girl, since the guy down there had his mouth occupied.
Nick, even distracted, noticed the noise at the door was intensifying.
But who the hell could it be? His friends knew he hated being interrupted when he hung panties on the doorknob β that was the signal he was busyβ¦ terribly busy.
Rules of living together didnβt seem to matter to the aggressiveness with which the door was shoved open. They wouldnβt mind someone else joining the fun, but his friend and roommate didnβt look the least bit pleased.
βYouβve had enough fun, now thatβs it, get out of here!β Noah said, scooping up the clothes from the floor without even checking whose they were and throwing them against the two startled, unknown faces. βDidnβt you hear what I said?β
βCalm down, manβ¦β said the boy, drunker than an old Viking, trying to argue, but Noah pushed them out without much effort.
Nick was confused, but maybe it was the alcohol β which also explained why he saw two Noahs in front of him. He was far from the most uptight in the group; in fact, he was usually the one who followed along and even encouraged many of the bizarre adventures his friend got into, but today his childhood friend was way too serious.
βWhat is it?β Nick asked, pointing with his chin. Slowly and without hiding his frustration, letting out a loud sigh, he jumped off the couch and threw on the first piece of cloth he found. βI wasnβt even finished yet.β
βWeβll talk about it later, but I need you to come downstairs with meβ¦β Noah moderated his words, scratching his head. βItβs pretty serious.β
For a few seconds, Nick tried to retrace his last few days, running a sharp blade through his memories to make sure he hadnβt done any shit β at least nothing serious enough they couldnβt get away withβ¦ the usual way. He found nothing, but he did find it strange to see Officer Phebe in the living room while he came down the stairs. She had a frown etched on her face, inspecting the whole place, turned upside down like a trash can with bottles and food wrappers scattered across the floor.
βNicholas Folio?β the woman said without looking directly at him. Nick exchanged a few glances with his three friends before nodding his head. βWe need you to come with us, please.β
Joakim β or rather, JK when among the Jax β was the first to step forward before his friend could even answer. He had a strong instinct for leadership; nothing happened or passed without his consent. Everyone said being the son of two prosecutors had given him a sense of justice, but his friends preferred to call him the devilβs advocate, since he only used the law and its tools to defend his own.
βHold on,β he pushed Nick back with the palm of his hand. βHeβs not going anywhere until we know what this is about.β
Phebe looked the young man up and down. She was already used to dealing with the tantrums of the spoiled gang, but that didnβt mean she had patience for it.
βItβs not something that can be explained so easily, itβs better if he sees it.β
βThen weβre going with him.β Noah cut in, and the policewoman only shrugged.
βI didnβt stop you from coming.β
The friends exchanged glances at her reply and raised their eyebrows at the same time. It didnβt take long before they were all outside, ready to get into Noahβs carβhe was the most sober of the four, and therefore the one who could drive.
βWhere are we even going again?β The voice of the boy who had been silent until then finally came out. He was so drunk his words tangled together. Ruffilo was the least interested in following his friends at that moment, having been dragged away from a drinking game where they were betting on who could down more shots. βCan we slow down a little? I think Iβm gonna puke.β
JK only gave him a sideways glance, but chose to swallow back what was on the tip of his tongue.
βAnyone got a guess? I made sure to warn the Crossfield guys to cover our tracks since last night.β He analyzed the situation, stroking the little beard on his chin. βAny of you go out without the group recently?β
Scavenging in the city, as they called it, was forbidden when not done with the other Jax. In the boysβ minds, they protected each other like a wolf pack, and Joakim, the alpha, kept the others under control not only through strength but with his sharp mind. Articulate, calculating, he had the ability to slip out of the most improbable situations with the same ease as a rubber band snapping back into shape. It was no wonder they trusted him blindly, nor that they followed his practical solutions as if they were law.
βThe signal here is crapβ¦ I canβt see if anything happened overnight on social media.β Nick answered, fidgety. He couldnβt stay still for even five minutes, making the leather seat creak.
βBut the question Iβve been asking myself since we left the party is why Officer Phebe wanted to talk directly with Folio?β Noah and JK exchanged looks. βIf that idiot says he didnβt do anything alone, I believe himβbut itβs still weird weβre following her to Mode Castleβ¦ how long has it been since weβve gone out that way?β
More than three years, JK thought.
It really made no senseβfrom looking for Folio to the request that they leave downtown and go to Mode Castle. Honestly, it wasnβt a Jax's favorite spot anyway: dustier than an old western town, elderly locals, and not even a phone line or a single bar of internet signal.
What could they possibly want out there?
JKβs mind quickly cut off the thoughts when the car finally stopped at the side of the road. The four of them jumped out, their car turning from gray to brown from the dust. Ruffilo didnβt get out so confidently. His eyes were still hazy, and when he finally realized where they were, he huffed angrily and turned right back to the car.
βWhere do you think youβre going?β Nick asked, staring over his shoulder.
βIβm gonna sleep. Tell me what happened in there later. Iβm out.β There wasnβt even time to argueβhe left his friends glaring at him furiously and slammed the car door shut before lying down across the seat.
One less to get in the way and make what should be a simple task more difficult.
The trio entered the most popular abandoned property in town. They knew the stories that surrounded the parish, having grown up hearing those legends as part of Northpass folklore. Honestly, they had never joined the kids who hiked the region or who went chasing the mysteries of Prayer Street to see if anything was really thereβthey always thought it was too stupid.
In JKβs mind, it would be simple: theyβd go in, gather information, and leaveβnot forgetting to file a formal complaint against Officer Phebe for trespassing on private property.
βWellβ¦ we received an unusual call during the night,β the policewoman began as she guided them inside. Beyond the dry soil, their eyes followed the intense movement of researchers, photographers, professionals covered head to toe in plastic suits carrying cases, and the sergeant in a heated conversation with the investigator.
βWe didnβt leave downtown overnightβ¦β JK cut in.
βAs I was saying,β she continued, throwing him a hard look over her shoulder as they entered the chapel. They stepped aside for some staff collecting evidence from the smallest details of the place. βWe received a call out of the ordinary, considering Mode Castle barely has inhabitants to cause any trouble. When we got here, we came face to face with a grotesque crime scene, and unfortunately we needed to contact a relative.β
Nickβs expression darkened as if all the alcohol had drained from his body and evaporated in seconds. The smell of dried blood mixed with the mold of the walls and bird droppings on the floor turned his stomach like a washing machine drumβbut nothing had prepared him enough for what his eyes landed on when, slowly turning his head, a glint beside a wooden bench caught his attention.
In his family, it was tradition to gift the men who became Jax with a discreet black tourmaline ring. A simple jewel made of steel by a jeweler who worked out of a basement in Crossfield, he would finish the piece with a round stone set in a base held by twisted metal arabesques. As usual, they all wore it on the ring finger. Nick kept that tradition, just like hisβ¦
βDad?β he whispered before bending over and vomiting everything that had been in his system since the previous night. It wasnβt muchβhe had only eaten snacks and drank a lot.
βShit!β Noah wrinkled his nose in disgust, but quickly grabbed his friend by the waist and dragged him outside.
βWhat the fuck is your problem? How can you bring the kid here to identify his fatherβs body when itβsβ¦ when itβs this disfigured! Wasnβt there anyone else in the family who could do it for him?β JK protested furiously. βWhat the hell happened here?β
βThe mayorβs body was found impaled with an iron spear on top of Stacy Willem, from what I gathered, his niece. When we got here, they had been stuck in that position for so long that their bodies were stiff when we separated them. They were naked, and the disfigured faces were the work of the birds that smelled the fresh blood after the murder.β
He had watched countless horror films before, many of them predictable, like the couple who, during sex in a forbidden place, end up attracting a killer frustrated by his own ruined sex life. But he couldnβt define what unsettled him most as he stood before the mayor of his city, his best friendβs father, dead beside his wifeβs niece.
JK couldnβt quite process it.
βNo one has any useful information on this? Didnβt anyone see someone come in, or hear anything unusual during the night? This place doesnβt have many residentsβitβs impossible for it to go unnoticed.β
His gaze faltered, and he caught sight of Nick, eyes wide open, still staring at his father. He still looked nauseated, even pale, but for the first time his friends witnessed something never before seen in all the years as a Jax: Nick Folio was silent.
Folio wasnβt sure if he was in shock from losing the man he had always considered his greatest source of inspiration and encouragement. His father had been a pillar of strength, never shaken enough for his discomfort to show, and Nick found it fascinating how he could persuade people, turning every action into a conversion of a voter.
It was no wonder he had been mayor of Northpass for over twenty-nine years.
For as long as he could remember, Nick knew his father wasnβt a saintβquite the opposite. He had grown used to hearing lines like: βNick, avoid thinking too much unless your head is resting between a pair of legs.β And he admired him even more for the sharp response he gave the day Nick confessed he liked boys too: βAnd who doesnβt?β he laughed. βI bought this world so you could rule it, my son. Have fun.β
That was the memory he wanted to keep of his father after his passingβcompletely different from what was before his eyes. His father had been murdered while betraying his mother with his aunt Stacy, who was the same age as him.
βMan, Iβm really sorryβ¦ this is fucked up,β Noah tried to soften the blow, placing a hand on his shoulder. Nick sat on one of the crooked pews of the church, his attention locked on the men snapping pictures and tearing through the crime scene as if they were digging a hole in the ground.
βThis is all way too strange.β
Their moment was interrupted by a third voice. Noah rolled his eyes and sat down beside Folio.
βDonβt start, JK,β Noah warned with a single look. βFolio just lost his dadβwho was fucking his auntβin a church. Donβt try to make this about you.β
βThanks a lot, Noah, youβre always so wise and delicate with your words,β Nick shot back, bitter and sarcastic.
βYouβre welcome, Nick.β He smiled.
βUghβ¦β the boy groaned, leaning away from him on the bench. Folio raised his eyes to his friend, who was still standing, scanning the scene analytically. βWhat are you thinking about?β
βOfficer Phebe showed me some images of the crime scene before they altered it for their work. There was some kind of inscription carved into the victimsβ skin, written in a strange language. She asked around to find out what it was, and it translated to something like: βSo I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.ββ He explained, earning both of their attention. βThe language was Latin.β
βAnd what does that mean?β Nick shrugged.
βSounds biblical, doesnβt it?β Noah mused aloud, more forcefully than intended. βIf Iβm not mistaken, itβs a verse about lust.β
JK and Nick snapped their heads toward him. They didnβt tread on sacred ground, nor did they ever talk about religionβthat had been drilled into them since childhood. Everyone made their own destiny. To hell with Father Joseph IIβs curses.
βYou think this has something to do with that priest?β
βFather Joseph IIβs been rotting in hell for yearsβdonβt be an idiot,β JK muttered, giving Noah a smack to the back of the head. βBut if youβre right about the carvings being some kind of Bible verse, then it sounds more like a warning.β
βA warning?β
βYes, Nick. Lust is one of the seven deadly sins. It speaks of people who have excessive desires for sexual pleasure. And if we consider the fact he killed your father while he was screwing someone forbiddenβ¦β
βHe wanted to show thereβs punishment for sinners.β Nick finished the thought, still in shock, his eyes widening as though doubling in size. βToo lateβ¦β
JK saw the opening and stepped closer, leaning in to muffle the conversation.
βThatβs the point, Nick. Northpass hasnβt had any religious ties for years, and that makes the city an easy target for some fanatic to try pushing a purification process. He cleanses, then moves on to mass conversion, claiming that if we donβt submit, weβll meet the same fateβ¦ itβs like Folioβs dad being the witch burned at the stakeβheβs meant to be an example.β
The theory sounded intriguing, but the other two werenβt entirely convinced. For all JKβs brilliance, he also had a habit of spiraling into conspiracies when he had an audience.
βI donβt think thatβs the planβ¦β
βThen what is it, Noah?β JK pressed, raising his eyebrows with that tone his friends knew too wellβhe was getting irritated at being contradicted.
βHe started with a grotesque murder of one of Northpassβs biggest namesβ¦ he left a clear signature: using one of the sins as a base. I donβt think he wants to convert the whole city to Christianityβbut to expose, or punish, what people tied to those sins are hiding. And letβs be honestβhe mustβve known the mayor better than weβd like to admit.β
An awkward silence settled between the three. Nick dug his fingers into his hair, pressing his head as if he could squeeze the memory out of it. Not even his friendsβ support or their debating theories could erase from his mind the image of his fatherβs open skull and gray matter, corroded and devoured.
βSo youβre saying more people are gonna die?β
βWeβve got six sins leftβ¦β












