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The clang of the metal latch releasing woke George from his troubled sleep. He had tried to get what rest he could on the thin cot in his cell, a small space it shared with a toilet and small sink. The cell was deep beneath the Templars’ monastery. It was stark, but clean, probably on par with the local mortal jail. George had certainly slept in worse places.
He sat up on the edge of the cot, certain that whoever was coming down the hall was coming for him. As far as he could tell, he was the only one in the jail. It was a holding cell for those awaiting trial with the Inquisition. Normally it was for those that violated the Veil of the Pale, exposing the supernatural world to potential human discovery. But it was also for those who had acted against the Inquisition, as he had
