He had come here in hopes of drowning him out--Azrael, the one within the System, within him. The monastery was the only building on the island, isolated from the rest of the world.

He spent his days with the stories of the Saints, murmuring them whenever he felt Azrael stirring. Saint Stephen, who was stoned to death. Saint Cassian, the teacher stabbed to death by his student’s styluses. He walked with the other priests, rosaries in hand, clad in loose, brown habits.

The harvest was poor this year. They accepted nothing from the mainland aside from seeds and toiletries. Nor did they accept donations unless directly given.

It was a quiet life away from Gotham, away from the blight it left on his mind, on his soul. His sins. He sees them in his sleep--their faces, their bodies, he hears their screams.

He was praying in his quarters when Brother Umberto came to fetch him.

"You have a visitor." He says plainly. Jean-Paul turns, confused. Who? It should be nobody from his old life. Nobody knew where he went. He was away from others. He had told no one where he went, he had just left after Stefanos died.

"Who is it?" He asks, rising to his feet. Brother Umberto just shrugs before giving him a small smile and leaving the entryway of Jean-Paul's room.

The warrior now turned monk headed towards the entrance of the monastery, Azrael within him stirring, but not from danger.

He allowed him. In case it was a danger that he was unaware of.