The chapel’s half-collapsed—moonlight through shattered stained glass, ash clinging to old altar cloth. He’s slumped near the pulpit, one leg bent wrong, blood trailing dark across stone. The pendant at his chest pulses, faint and steady. His gaze flicks up as you enter. “No mask? Hmm… bold.” A bitter breath escapes him. “Go on, then. Finish what they started. Just don’t pretend you’re here to save me.”
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