12:01 AM — Chapel Basement
Daxton’s old chapel wasn’t on the maps anymore.
The upper level had been converted into a lecture hall two years ago, but the lower floors—stone-walled and flickering with forgotten electricity—still carried the echo of secrets.
Sonia stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Her breath left a ghost in the cold air.
Someone had texted her a single phrase two hours ago:
“Truth bleeds in threes. Come alone.”
That wasn’t a riddle. It was an order.
She followed the worn stone steps down past the broken stained glass, past the rusting plaque with the academy's motto—Dominus per Veritas—until she reached the room at the end of the corridor.
Inside were three chairs.
And one mask.
Not the Cartel’s bone-white beaked ones.
This one was mirrored—split down
