The air on the mountain was thin enough to make a saint dizzy, but Elena Vance knew it was not the altitude causing her head to spin. It was the silence.
The Sanctuary sat perched on the edge of the world, a jagged spire of black stone and grey slate cutting into the belly of the snow-filled clouds. There were no birds here. No trees. Just the howling wind and the smell of burning sage that seemed to seep from the very rocks.
Elena pulled her wool coat tighter around her body, shivering as the heavy iron gates groaned open. She was here on a lie. She was not a lost soul seeking redemption. She was a journalist for The City Herald, and she was hunting a monster.
His name was Caleb. They called him The Prophet.
Two acolytes, young men with shaved heads and eyes that looked too glassy to
