The doors to the Crimson Cathedral creaked open just past midnight.
Waker Ramon entered, his crimson robe soaked with rain and sweat. He dropped to one knee as soon as he reached the center aisle, fists clenched at his sides, head bowed. Behind him, two scouts stood silently — lean men with hollow eyes, their faces marked with black ash in the pattern of the sun.
High Father Elias Montano turned slowly from the altar. His hands were clasped behind his back. He had been standing before the chained husk of Sister Teresa for hours, whispering prayers only he understood.
Now, his gaze fell on the kneeling Waker.
"Speak, brother," Elias said.
Ramon raised his head. "We have found them."
Elias tilted his head.
"In Bataan," Ramon continued, "a military compound. Reinforced. Armed. Solar power. Vehicles. We counted over a hundred. Possibly more."
A murmur spread through the shadows of the cathedral. Several Red Choir members who had been lingering in the pews turned their heads.
