Night had already fallen by the time they reached the house.
Far from the noise and chaos of London, the place stood in complete isolation, facing a dark, silent lake that stretched endlessly into the horizon. The surface of the water reflected the faint glow of the moon, disturbed only occasionally by the wind. There were no nearby lights, no passing cars, no signs of life—just stillness.
Inside, the atmosphere was anything but calm.
The pastor sat tied to a wooden chair at the center of the room, his wrists and ankles tightly bound. His face was bruised, one side swollen, his lip split and dry with traces of blood. His breathing was uneven, shallow, as if every inhale required effort.
