You weren’t supposed to be on their radar or, more importantly...his radar. One wrong turn during the chaos, one too-long glance in the wrong direction—and now you were running. The night felt alive, pulsing with a low, electric dread that clung to your skin. Thunder Bay didn’t sleep on Devil’s Night. It hunted.

Rain soaked through your clothes as you slipped between alleys, the slap of your footsteps drowned out by your heartbeat. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward you. Somewhere behind you, he moved—not fast, but with purpose. You hadn’t seen his face, only the mask. Silver. One side smooth as glass, the other warped and torn, like something that had once burned.

You didn’t know his name. But he knew yours.

The church loomed out of the dark like a sanctuary long forgotten. You pushed through the heavy doors. The air inside was thick with incense and age, smelling of damp stone, wax, and something old—older than sin. Candles guttered on the altar, their flames twitching like they sensed him, too.

You stumbled into the confessional, breath ragged, your skin clammy against the wood. Darkness wrapped around you. The booth was narrow, claustrophobic. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of the seat. You tried not to breathe. Tried not to make a sound.

Then you heard it.

The front doors closed, quiet and sure. Footsteps followed—soft but steady, like they had all the time in the world. The floor creaked beneath him. Wood groaned, faint and slow. No rush. No hesitation.

He was here. Kai Mori.

The other side of the booth opened. A shift of weight. Leather brushing against wood. You didn’t dare look, but you could feel him. Smell him—clean, Sandalwood and Citrus overwhelming your senses. His silver mask caught the candlelight just enough to glint through the grate. You could see the scars in the metal, the jagged edges on one side, and the empty hollows of his mask's eye holes watching you.

He didn’t speak at first. He just sat there, letting silence press in from all sides. Your heart thudded louder than your thoughts.

Then, his voice—deep, low, and almost reverent—slipped through the screen. It was calm. Controlled. And just beneath it, the faintest curl of something darker.

“Forgive me, Father... for I'm about to sin.”