Edward sat alone in the dim surveillance room, the glow of multiple monitors reflecting off his tired eyes. He replayed the hospital footage again and again—every angle, every timestamp, every pixel.
Nothing.
No masked man entering the hallway.
No figure stepping into Leonte's room.
No door opening.
No motion sensors triggered.
Yet Leonte had nearly died in that room.
Edward leaned back, rubbing his temples. "What the hell are we dealing with…"
Jake entered quietly. "Anything?"
Edward shook his head. "He wasn't on the cameras. Not even a shadow."
Jake swallowed. "Then he's not just another rogue android."
Edward didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Because deep down, he already knew:
This was something else.
Something older.
Something worse.
---
Chapter Thirteen: The Nightgown and the Visitor
Leonte's home was quiet that night.
The twins were asleep in their shared room, sprawled across their beds like little warriors who'd finally surrendered to exhaustion. Their daughter slept curled up with a book still open beside her. The house was peaceful—warm, lived‑in, safe.
Hazel sat at the dining table in her long white nightgown, her curly hair falling over her shoulders as she typed quietly on her laptop. She was reviewing bank statements, cross‑checking expenses, making sure the family was stable while Leonte recovered.
The soft tapping of keys filled the room.
Until it didn't.
A cold stillness swept through the air—subtle at first, then suffocating. Hazel's fingers froze above the keyboard.
She felt it before she saw it.
A presence.
She turned her head slowly.
The masked man stood beside her.
White hooded robe.
White gloves.
White mask streaked with golden tears.
Hazel eyes glowing faintly behind the mask.
Hazel gasped, stumbling to her feet. The chair scraped loudly across the floor as she backed away.
"W‑Who are you?" she whispered, voice trembling.
The masked man tilted his head, the motion eerily calm.
"Mankind," he said softly, "has failed God."
Hazel's breath hitched.
He stepped closer.
"Humanity has traded truth for vanity… purpose for pleasure… devotion for rebellion."
Hazel backed away until her shoulders hit the wall. Her hands trembled against the cool surface.
"There remain only a few," the man continued, "whose hearts are still pure. Who still seek redemption."
Hazel shook her head, tears forming. "Please… please don't hurt my children."
The man paused.
"I have no quarrel with the innocent," he said gently. "Nor with the women who walk in humility and strength."
He took another step toward her.
Hazel pressed herself tighter against the wall.
The masked man's voice lowered, almost reverent.
"A virtuous woman is far above rubies…"
(KJV, Proverbs 31)
Hazel's breath trembled.
He reached out with a gloved hand and gently cupped her cheek. The touch was cold—unnaturally cold. She flinched but couldn't move.
His hazel eyes locked onto hers.
"She openeth her mouth with wisdom… and in her tongue is the law of kindness."
Hazel's heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst.
The masked man leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Remember this, The righteous will be tested. And the protector you love will be tested most of all."
A swirl of white dust rose from his feet, spiraling upward like smoke caught in a silent wind.
Hazel blinked—
And he was gone.
The room was empty.
The air was still.
Her cheek still tingled where he touched her.
Hazel collapsed to her knees, shaking violently, tears streaming down her face.
Upstairs, the children slept peacefully.
Unaware that something ancient and terrifying had just walked through their home.
The moment Hazel's trembling voice came through the phone—barely coherent, barely breathing—he snapped into command mode.
"Wendy, mobilize a protection detail to Leonte's residence. Full perimeter lockdown. No one in or out without my authorization."
Wendy nodded sharply and began issuing orders through her comms.
Edward grabbed his coat. "I'm heading there now."
"Should I notify the hospital?" Wendy asked.
"Not yet," Edward said. "Leonte needs rest. And whatever this thing is… it's targeting his family first."
---
The Leonte Home — 20 Minutes Later
The house was swarming with Refinement security by the time Edward arrived. Tactical lights swept across the yard. Two officers guarded the front door. Another pair patrolled the perimeter.
Inside, Hazel sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, her long curly hair disheveled, her white nightgown still trembling around her knees. Her clear-frame glasses were smudged from tears. She looked small—fragile—but her eyes were sharp with terror.
Wendy sat beside her with a recorder in hand.
Edward approached gently. "Hazel… I'm here now. You're safe."
Hazel swallowed hard. "Edward… he was in the house. He was right beside me."
Wendy pressed record. "Hazel, whenever you're ready."
Hazel took a shaky breath. "I was checking our bank statements. The kids were asleep. And then… the air changed. It got cold. Still. And when I turned—he was standing right next to me."
Edward's jaw tightened. "Describe him."
"You already know," Hazel whispered. "White robe. White mask with golden tears. White gloves. And his eyes… hazel. Like they were glowing."
Wendy glanced at Edward. "Same description Leonte gave."
Hazel continued, voice cracking. "He talked about mankind failing God. About humanity losing its purpose. He said only a few people still had pure hearts. That some still sought redemption."
Edward leaned forward. "Did he threaten you?"
"No," Hazel said, shaking her head. "He… he spoke to me like I was something sacred. He quoted scripture. About women. About virtue. About kindness. And then—"
She touched her cheek.
"He touched my face. Like he was blessing me. Or claiming me. I don't know."
Wendy's hand trembled slightly as she wrote. "And then?"
"He vanished," Hazel whispered. "Into dust. Like he was never there."
Edward exhaled slowly. "Hazel… you did the right thing calling me."
The front door opened.
Jamal stepped inside, his arm in a sling from the earlier battle. He looked exhausted, but determined.
"Edward," he said, "I heard what happened. I need to explain something."
Edward nodded. "Go ahead."
Jamal sat across from Hazel, his expression grave.
"What he's quoting," Jamal said, "isn't random scripture. It's from the Book of Revelation. The parts about false prophets. About deceivers who come dressed in purity but bring destruction."
Hazel shivered.
Jamal continued, voice low and steady. "Revelation talks about figures who appear holy—white robes, symbols of purity—but their purpose is to mislead. To test. To divide. They speak softly, but their message is corruption."
Edward crossed his arms. "You think this masked man sees himself as one of those figures?"
"No," Jamal said. "I think he sees himself as the figure. The one who ushers in the end. The one who tests the righteous."
Hazel's eyes widened. "He said Leonte would be tested."
Jamal nodded. "Exactly. And quoting Proverbs to you? That wasn't random either. He's choosing scripture that elevates you. That isolates Leonte. That frames him as the one who must prove himself."
Edward's voice hardened. "He's manipulating them."
Jamal nodded. "And he's doing it with purpose."
Wendy stopped recording. "So what do we do?"
Edward looked at Hazel, then at the armed guards stationed around the house.
"We protect this family with everything we have," he said. "And we find out who—or what—this masked man really is."
He turned toward the door.
"And when Leonte wakes up… he's going to need to hear all of this."
The night in Leonte's neighborhood had turned uneasy. Patrol cars lined the street. Refinement agents moved quietly between houses, scanning for any sign of the masked intruder. The air felt charged—like the moment before a storm breaks.
Edward and Jamal approached the next house up the block, a modest two‑story home with warm lights glowing behind the curtains. A shaken woman stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself.
She was striking—blonde hair falling in soft waves, blue eyes wide and glassy. Her features were delicate, almost doll‑like, the kind of innocence that made her look younger than she was.
Her name was Erica.
"Ma'am," Edward said gently, "we're here because you reported seeing someone inside your home."
Erica nodded quickly. "Yes. Please… come in. My kids are asleep upstairs. My husband's on night shift. I'm alone."
They stepped inside.
The living room was neat, cozy, and warm—but the atmosphere was tense. Erica led them to the couch, her hands trembling.
"It happened about twenty minutes ago," she whispered. "I was watching TV. Everything was normal. And then… he was just there."
Jamal exchanged a look with Edward. "The same man Hazel described?"
Erica swallowed. "White robe. White mask with gold tears. White gloves. He didn't break in. He didn't make a sound. He just… appeared."
Edward's voice stayed calm. "What did he say to you?"
Erica hesitated, then spoke in a soft, frightened voice.
"He said women were meant to be pure. Gentle. Obedient to God's design. He said I had a 'heart untouched by corruption.'"
Jamal's jaw tightened.
Erica continued, voice shaking. "He placed both of his hands on my face. Like he was blessing me. Or judging me. I—I didn't know what to do."
She pointed to the couch.
"He left that."
A single white rose lay on the cushion—perfect, untouched, almost glowing under the lamp.
But what caught Edward's attention were the faint golden smudges on the fabric. Two handprints. One on each side of the rose.
Erica stepped back. "I tried to take a picture. I swear I did. But…"
She held up her phone.
The screen showed the couch—empty. No rose. No handprints. Nothing.
"It doesn't show up," she whispered. "Not the rose. Not the prints. Not even the light shift where he stood."
Jamal crouched beside the couch, studying the golden marks. "Hazel said the same thing. He touched her face. Spoke scripture. Left no trace on camera."
Erica hugged herself tighter. "He said something else before he vanished."
Edward looked up. "What was it?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"He said, 'The women of virtue will be marked first.'"
A chill ran through the room.
Edward stood slowly. "Erica, we're assigning a protection detail to your home. You're not staying here alone tonight."
She nodded, tears forming.
Jamal rose beside him, his expression dark. "This isn't random. He's choosing women who fit a pattern. Hazel. Erica. He's quoting scripture about purity, obedience, virtue."
Edward exhaled sharply. "He's building something. A message. A following. Or a prophecy."
Jamal nodded grimly. "And Revelation is full of warnings about deceivers who appear holy—white robes, signs, wonders—but twist scripture to manipulate the faithful."
Edward looked at the rose again.
It hadn't wilted.
It hadn't moved.
It didn't even look real.
"We need to get this analyzed," he said. "And we need to find him before he marks anyone else."
Outside, the wind picked up, rustling the trees.
Somewhere in the neighborhood, unseen, the masked man watched.
And waited.
By late morning, the Refinement HQ conference room was already buzzing with tension. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting sharp lines across the table where Edward, Jamal, Kate, and Mark gathered. Coffee cups sat untouched. No one felt like drinking.
The clock on the wall clicked to 11:00 AM.
Edward closed the door. "Let's begin."
Kate sat near the end of the table, one eye bandaged, the other squinting against the brightness. Jamal sat stiffly with his arm in a sling. Mark stood at the whiteboard, flipping open a heavily tabbed Bible.
He uncapped a marker and wrote in bold strokes:
• Revelation 13
• Revelation 16
• Revelation 19
• Proverbs 31
Jamal leaned forward. "These are the passages he's quoting. False prophets. Deceivers. Judgment. Purity. He's not improvising — he's following a script."
Kate raised her hand weakly. "So what, we're prepping for Judgment Day now? Should I bring snacks next time?"
Edward slammed his palm on the table.
"Kate. Enough."
She flinched, startled. "I'm just trying to cope."
"This isn't something to joke about," Edward snapped. "He's targeting families. Women. Children. He's quoting scripture while breaking into homes. This is not a game."
The room fell silent.
Mark cleared his throat and continued. "We've confirmed twenty families have reported encounters with the masked man."
He wrote the numbers:
• 20 families
• 30 men
• 30 women
• 80 individuals 'judged' or 'blessed'
Kate frowned. "Blessed? That's what they're calling it?"
Mark nodded. "Some of them, yes. Especially the women he touched or spoke to directly. They described it as… reverent. Like he was choosing them."
Jamal exhaled slowly. "That's exactly how Revelation describes the deceiver. Someone who appears holy. Someone who speaks softly, uses scripture, and convinces people he's chosen by God."
Edward folded his arms. "And he's doing it in our city."
Mark tapped the board. "Revelation 13 describes a figure who performs signs and wonders. Who deceives the world. Who marks people — symbolically or literally."
Kate rubbed her forehead. "So he's marking eighty people so far. What's the endgame? A cult? A prophecy? A recruitment drive?"
Jamal shook his head. "He's building something. A following. A narrative. And he's doing it with precision."
Edward paced the room, jaw tight. "He's escalating. Appearing more frequently. More boldly. And he's not hiding from anyone anymore."
Mark closed the Bible slowly. "And he's quoting scripture about purity, obedience, virtue. He's targeting women who fit a certain profile — Hazel, Erica, the others."
Jamal added, "And he's confronting men differently. Testing them. Challenging them. Pushing them toward something."
Edward stopped pacing and faced the team.
"We need to assume he's planning something bigger. Something soon."
Kate swallowed. "So what do we do?"
Edward's voice hardened.
"We track every sighting. We protect every family. And we find out who — or what — this masked man is before he judges anyone else."
Mark looked around the room, his expression grim.
"And before his version of Judgment Day becomes more than a metaphor."