Cornwall in winter was no place for those seeking warmth. Its sky was a heavy, leaden gray, resembling the color of cold metal, and the winds from the Atlantic Ocean battered the stone cliffs with a roar like that of a starving monster.Damian stood before St. Jude’s Church, an ancient stone structure whose walls had been eroded by sea salt for centuries. His steps, clad in expensive leather shoes, felt foreign on the wet, rocky ground. Behind him, Mark followed with a guarded expression."This church has stood since the 12th century, Sir," Mark’s voice was swallowed by the wind. "The records here are among the most difficult to manipulate because they still adhere to very strict physical archiving."Damian did not answer. He pushed open the heavy wooden door of the church, which creaked loudly, cutting through the silence of a room that smelled of beeswax and old wood. There, near the altar, an elderly man in a black robe was tidying several books. He was Father Miller.The meeting p
Last Updated : 2026-01-30
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