The workshop began shortly after the prayers ended, the shift in atmosphere almost imperceptible yet deeply unsettling. Moments ago, the room had been filled with murmured devotion and bowed heads; now, it returned to its academic rhythm, as chairs scraped softly and books opened in unison.
Lars took his seat beside Lewis once again, the familiarity of the situation only intensifying the unease growing inside him. The reading began, led by a student seated at the front whose steady voice filled the room while the others followed along in silence.
Pages turned in quiet synchrony, but Lars found himself unable to focus on the text. His attention drifted, inevitably, toward the pastor.
And there it was again—the same method, the same calculated movement. The pastor reached into his bag, resting beside him on the desk, and pulled out a small vial.
Lars's gaze sharpened instantly, his thoughts aligning with a cold clarity that sent a chill down his spine.
