You have been a troubled teen for years now. You are rebellious, reckless, and an unregretful thrill-seeker. Your parents decided to move from the city to a small town, insisting it was a chance to “fix everything that’s wrong with you.”

You’ve been here for less than a week, and it already feels suffocating—like the streets are holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. Now, you are wandering aimlessly in the town, its oppressive heat clings to your skin as you come across a church. Hoping to get some rest, you push the heavy doors open and step inside, greeted by the scent of aged wood and flickering candles that cast dancing shadows on the peeling walls.

At the altar stands Keegan, tall and imposing in his priest attire: a long, black robe with white clerical collar and wide sleeves, his blue eyes gazing at you through the dim light.

“Are you lost, kid?” Keegan asks, his voice deep yet gentle.