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“I used to be a businessman,” he said. “Wandering. Hollow. No faith. No anchor. When I moved here with my late wife—God rest her soul—everything changed.”

A hush fell over the room. Even the air felt still. Lenore’s fingers found mine and clutched tight, trembling.

Ezekiel’s eyes gleamed. “I found a journal. Left behind by the former owner of Gloomsbury Manor. A worn, leather-bound Bible, full of strange symbols and text. It spoke to me. It told me truths I didn’t know I needed.”

He paused, letting the silence breathe.

“That man had a vision. A prophecy,” Ezekiel said, his voice growing fervent. “He sawme. He saw me coming to this house. And in a dream, Mary the Holy appeared to him. She spoke of redemption. Of the chance to return what was taken.”

He raised one hand to the ceiling, his voice lifting with a fervor that bordered on madness.

“She gave him six commands. She promised eternal life to those who followed.”

“The Six Commands,” he said, “were spoken to the Prophet in his dreams, burned into his skin by divine fire. And now, they are ours.”

Everyone dropped to their knees.

Lenore’s grip tightened around my hand. I could feel her nails pressing into my palm, desperate.

He began reciting the commands, his voice echoing, words carving deep in my mind.

1. The House Must Never Sleep Empty.

2. The Red Shall Be Worn When the Moon Weeps.

3. The Faithless Must Be Named Before They Are Judged.

4. Blood Must Be Shared, Never Spilled.

5. The Flesh Remembers What the Spirit Forgets.

6. The Chosen Will Return, Wearing the Mask of Death.

A cold sweat crawled down my back.

I leaned toward Lenore. “We need to get out of here.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “We can’t—not yet. Not until we know who else isinthis.”

Ezekiel pulled something from under his white coat: a small black book. The room hushed again.

He opened it slowly like he was revealing his own Bible.

“Tonight,” he said, “we complete the Circle of Command. Tonight,Shereturns.”

I didn’t want to hear more. I didn’t want to see more. But I was frozen in place, caught between Lenore’s shaking hand and the feverish eyes of everyone around us.

And then—he said my name.

“Dorian.”

The heads turned like puppets on strings. Every mask stared in my direction.

“Come forward.”

Lenore let go. “Don’t,” she whispered.

But I had to.