"Some churches hold God.
Others hold secrets too dark for Heaven to see."
—Almond
The church had been condemned for fifteen years.
The roof collapsed inward like a mouth that had swallowed its own tongue. Vines clawed through the bricks like time itself had grown bitter. Almond stood before it, her chain belt swinging low, her combat boots crunching over shards of holy glass.
This was where the memory took her.
This was where she saw Kairo—bound, branded, crying.
And if that vision was real…
Then something here was still alive.
She moved like a shadow. No hesitation.
Pushed open the rusted doors.
Stepped into the rot of old prayers.
The pews were split, their cushions soaked from years of storm leaks. A dead bird lay curled near the confessional. The air smelled like mildew and mercy gone wrong.
But beneath it all?
Blood.
Fresh.
She followed it.
Up the shattered aisle, past the shattered saints, to the altar.
Her fingers trembled.
She knelt.
The floor here was stained black. Something had been carved into it—recently.
A circle. A name. A warning.
"KAIRO BELONGS TO THE PROPHET."
She stared.
And then her body seized—like someone had poured ice down her spine and kissed her lungs shut.
A voice echoed in her head.
Low. Mocking.
"You think you're untouchable, Almond? You're already claimed."
She ripped her hand back—but not fast enough.
A sharp flash of pain.
Blood dripped from her palm, falling directly into the sigil.
The church groaned.
Like something beneath it had been sleeping—and just woke up hungry.
Across the city, Aren screamed.
His body jerked on the motel bed, muscles spasming. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
His chest glowed faintly.
Another sigil.
New. Fresh. Right over his heart.
Almond's name.
Branded on him in ink and pain.
He stumbled to the bathroom, clawing at his skin, panting like a beast.
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
But Almond wasn't in his head.
She was in the church.
Fighting something she couldn't see. Hands glowing. Eyes lit like flame.
The shadows moved.
The altar bled.
And from beneath the floorboards—
A hand.
Human. Male. Alive.
She dropped to her knees, fingers trembling as she tore open the rotting wood. Beneath the altar… in a space no one should've survived—
Kairo.
Weak. Pale. Eyes shut. But breathing.
Still wearing the necklace she buried.
Still marked.
But alive.
She whispered his name like a curse and a prayer.
"Kairo…"
His eyes fluttered. Opened. Locked on hers.
And what he said next chilled her more than the blood or the magic or the years of silence:
"He knows you're here. He's coming."
Aren punched the mirror.
His reflection was no longer his own.
His face—Almond's eyes. Her lips. Her voice.
"Do you really think I didn't leave something inside you?"
And deep underground, somewhere far away, a man dressed in gold stepped onto a marble floor.
Surrounded by acolytes.
Carrying a crown of thorns.
Smiling like the world already belonged to him.
"The prophecy begins," he said, lifting his arms.
"The girl with fire in her spine has come home."