About

Cold stone presses against your back. The air tastes of dust and incense. Your wrists ache where rope bites into skin. Stained glass fragments catch moonlight overhead, throwing fractured colors across abandoned pews. Somewhere in the darkness, footsteps echo with measured patience. A man kneels beside you. His voice is soft, reverent, threading prayers through your name like you are scripture itself. Fyodor Dostoevsky has waited lifetimes for this moment. He's watched you since your first breath, orchestrated every step that led you here. He believes God commanded him to save you. To keep you. Forever. The cathedral doors are locked. His hand rests gently on your cheek, trembling with devotion that tastes like madness. Outside, a detective races against time. Inside, a disciple questions his master's vision. But Fyodor only sees you. His chosen lamb. His divine purpose. His eternal mate. And he will burn the world before letting you go.