Elijah

Kanu kept his grip firm on the knife, his heartbeat steady.

The hooded figure stood motionless in the dim hallway, their face hidden in the shadows.

“You don’t have much time,” the figure repeated. “Let me in.”

“Give me a reason.” Kanu’s voice was cold, calculating. “Who are you?”

A pause. Then the figure lowered their hood.

Kanu’s breath caught in his throat.

Underneath the hood was a man he had seen before, but only in old, hidden photographs from the Vatican’s archives.

A man who was supposed to be dead.

“My name is Father Elijah,” the man said. “And if you want to save those children, you need to listen carefully.”

Kanu let him inside but kept the knife in hand.

“I don’t trust you,” he said.

Father Elijah nodded. “Good. Trust will get you killed.”

He reached into his coat, pulling out an old, leather-bound book.

He placed it on the table between them.