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The city changed once we left downtown Paris.

Paris at night could look soft and romantic from a distance, but the further you drove from the crowded streets, the older it felt. The buildings grew darker, the roads quieter. History sat heavy in places like this.

The truck slowed in front of the cathedral.

Delacroix Cathedral.

Stone walls older than most countries. Tall gothic arches that stretched into the sky.

Tonight it was empty.

Or at least it looked that way.

The truck rolled to a stop along the curb. Tommy stepped out first, scanning the area while the other men moved quietly into position around the entrance.

I stepped out last.

Tommy nodded toward the side door.

“They’re inside.”

The church doors creaked when we pushed inside.

Candlelight flickered through the massive room, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

And right in the center of the altar…

Sir Delacroix.

Tied to a wooden cross that had been pulled down from the wall.

His white priest robes hung crookedly now, his head lowered, his hands secured tightly.

Beside him…

His wife.

Bound the same way.

The old man lifted his head slowly when he heard my footsteps echo through the cathedral.

Recognition hit his eyes immediately.

“Ares…” His voice trembled. “You shouldn’t be here.”

I walked slowly down the aisle.

The place where people usually prayed.

Confess.

Beg forgiveness.

Tonight it belonged to me.

“You know why I’m here, Uncle Sir,” I said calmly.

His wife shook her head quickly. “You have the wrong idea⁠—”