The main hall was wide and filled with the low, murmuring rhythm of prayers. Lines of kneeling devotees swayed gently, their hands clasped, eyes closed in reverence.
Incense curled toward the vaulted ceiling, and soft sunlight from stained-glass windows painted colored shapes over the polished stone floor.
At the far front stood the man who oversaw it all—High Priest Rudy, draped in immaculate white and gold, his posture the very image of grace.
His reputation was spotless. To the faithful, he was a beacon of virtue—calm, pious, untouchable.
But the moment Lysera and Irielle's eyes fell on him, both women instinctively stiffened.
They exchanged a brief glance, a silent agreement passing between them. Something was wrong.
No matter how serene his expression appeared, their instincts whispered danger.
They meant to pass by without a word, slipping through the hall unnoticed. But fate—or perhaps Rudy himself—had other ideas.
