Chapter 1
Elena’s POV.
I showed up early like I always did, slipping through the heavy wooden doors of the old stone church before most of the congregation even left their cars.
The place was quiet except for the low hum of the organ being tuned and the faint smell of old hymnals and candle wax.
My choir robe felt heavier than usual today, the dark fabric brushing the backs of my thighs as I walked up the center aisle.
I kept my eyes on the tall wooden kiosk at the front.
He was already there. Pastor Damien. Hidden behind that massive carved thing like always, only that deep, rough voice carrying out when he practiced lines or prayed.
I’d been watching him for months.
The way his sleeves sometimes rode up when he gripped the edges, showing thick black ink crawling over muscle.
