Chapter 47: They Walk Among You
The next words from the Bishop cut sharp.
"Somewhere beyond these walls… perhaps within them. Waiting. Watching. Breathing our air."
He pointed. His arm swept slowly across the pews.
Levi twitched when that finger passed over their row. It moved on. But not before the heat under Levi's skin turned cold.
"You will know them, by their walk… their silence… the unease in your soul. They will not kneel beside you. They will not meet your eye. They will not speak the Creed from memory."
He raised one hand to his own heart.
"Because their heart does not beat. It hisses."
He let the silence linger. Then stepped back to center. And with calm finality, he breathed in and said—
"So be vigilant. The Lord does not ask for fear. He asks for wisdom. A locked door. A quiet word. A ledger read twice. Trust… not easily given."
A final pause.
"For when winter grips the hinges, the gate closes slow—and the worm… the true worm… slips in unseen."
Levi stared down at his boots, fists balled beneath the pew. He didn't need to look up to feel every eye brushing too close.
The hum started low, a dull vibration at the base of his skull.
Levi blinked. Swallowed.
The bishop's voice faded, not in volume, but importance. Words lost meaning. Just cadence now. Echo. Authority pounding through the pulpit like hammer blows.
Then came the rush.
Blood surged in his ears, thick and constant. Like water over stone. Like steam through pipes about to burst. He couldn't hear the organ. Couldn't hear the kids. Kati-bird's hand clutched his, but even that started to feel like it was slipping through fog.
His breaths shortened.
'No no no, not here—not now. Keep it together. Just sit still. Look normal.'
But it was already too late.
His chest tightened. Not the sharp kind of pain. Deeper. Like something was folding inward, slow and certain. The core in his chest pulsed harder than it should. Too hard. Too loud. Could anyone else hear that? God, they could probably see it.
He felt watched.
The whispers began. Too soft to catch, but sharp enough to cut.
A glance. Then another. He thought he saw someone whisper into their neighbor's ear. Were they pointing? Did someone just look back at him?
He tried to steady himself. Rubbed the back of his neck, cracked his knuckles.
It didn't help.
He looked up. The bishop.
Bishop Fletcher had just turned his gaze from their pew. Had looked straight at him—he was sure of it. And there was something in his eyes. Recognition? Judgment?
'He knows...'
Panic crawled up his throat, bile-thick and burning. The walls were too close. The heat too much. He couldn't run, but he had to. The idea of staying a second longer felt like death.
'Get up. Get out. Move!'
The pressure in his head creaked like old wood. His legs twitched. His hands shook. He was seconds away from bolting. From throwing Kati-bird out of the way and breaking for the doors like a wild dog.
Then— he saw her.
Across the aisle.
Sister Moira.
She stood still among the rows of black-and-white habits. Her eyes—green like spring grass after hard rain—locked with his.
She didn't look angry. Or scared. She looked worried. Soft. Like someone who knew.
Knew and didn't flinch.
She smiled.
Not wide. Not for show. Just a small, warm thing. Thankful. Kind.
And just like that, the rush slowed.
The hum retreated. The thrum in his chest eased. Kati-bird's hand was solid again. Real. Levi took a breath. Then another.
The world was clicking back into focus.
Bishop Fletcher's voice started to creep back through the fog.
"...So come forward, my children. Now is not the time to confess, but to unburden. Let your worries become mine. Tell me anything that seems off—about anyone who seems… different. Come, children. Let's purge the corruption from the steel."
Levi's eyes snapped to the exit.
'I need to get out of here before I do somethin' stupid!'
This was his moment. The congregation had begun to stir, moving toward the confessionals, the Bishop and his clergy already settling in to hear the town's worries.
Levi leaned close to Kati-bird, voice low.
"I'm gettin' outta here. You get the kids through the rest of this and meet me by the general store."
"You're leaving?!"
"Shhh—yes. Now listen. Keep the kids together. If anyone asks, say I got sick from bad chicken."
Before she could argue, he was already moving. He blended into the crowd easy enough. Years of slipping away had made that second nature. But nothing in Levi's life ever stayed easy for long.
"Now hold on."
A hand closed around his arm. He didn't need to look to know the voice.
"I'm sorry, Sister Moira, but I gotta go. Stomach's twistin' pretty bad."
She stepped in front of him, voice low, eyes steady as she pulled in close.
"Good idea. Best to not stay too long. But I'm glad you kept to your word, all the same."
Levi blinked. He'd expected a fight. Scolding. Orders. But not this.
He managed a smile, awkward and brief.
"I'll be leavin', then. Good to see you, Sister."
He bowed a little, too formal, and turned to leave. She watched him go, trying to keep her face neutral, calm.
'Maggie really is a genius. Barely recognized the boy.'
She turned to head for the children—but stopped short.
A man stood in front of her.
"Brother Michael."
She nodded, didn't wait for a reply, and quickly walked past.
Brother Michael didn't acknowledge her.
His sickly eyes—milk-pale, splotched with brown—stayed fixed.
Locked on the back of a boy slipping out early. Too early.
Too quiet. Too smooth.
And far too interesting.
----
Rounding the corner of the first building past the cathedral, Levi stumbled into a shaded alley and vomited hard.
'Son of a—!'
He wiped his mouth, spat bile, and scowled.
Leaning back against the wall, he tugged his hat low over his eyes, chest heaving. The cold stone felt good against his spine.
'I ain't doin' this every week. Rather deal with the bullshit than go through that again.'
His breathing steadied. Sweat still clung to his brow, but the worst had passed. If he'd known the word for it, he might've called it a panic attack. But he didn't. Just figured he'd gotten too hot, too worked up.
Blissful in his ignorance, he pushed off the wall and started toward the city square.
The streets were quiet, as expected. He seemed to be the only poor bastard walking around Denton this early on a Sunday. A cough echoed down some distant alley, and a few old boots shuffled behind closed doors, but that was it. Everyone else was still glued to the pews.
"Should've asked when they'd be done..."
He glanced at the sun—still a couple hours shy of noon. Church wouldn't let out until then, at the earliest.
He considered heading back to the orphanage, but he could already hear the mouthful of shit Rufus would give him.
He pictured it clear—Rufus half-dressed, nursing a cup of coffee like a hangover, grinning like a bastard and tearing into him.
'You choke in front of the big man, Levi? Did your chest light up and start preachin' for ya?'
"Nah… not dealin' with that bastard right now."
He looked toward the river.
"Mag said she skips church all the time… didn't see her there either."
Decision made.
He turned toward the docks. He needed a walk. And he had questions anyway—about his spine, his upgrades, and just how soon he could really start using them.
He started wondering what compressed time actually felt like. Started picturing it—himself as one of those knights he used to pretend to be as a kid. Flying high on augments, steel catching the sun, moving faster than sound.
For a second, he even smiled.
He was two steps from skipping when he caught himself.
"Tch."
Shaking his head, he reined it back in, grounding himself before the daydream got outta hand.
His hand drifted to his hip. Blades weren't there. Just feeling—remembering it—settled him. A reminder.
He wasn't here to play.
He was here to get tuned up. Then it was time to stop pretending. No more house, no more peace. Just forward.
Just war.
For the first time, he started to wonder if he'd ever come back to Denton. Or if he even could.
As he headed up Whispering Pines Road, he stuck close to the far side, boots brushing the edge of the boardwalk. He kept his eyes forward, careful not to glance too long toward the cemetery.
He didn't know much about Solomon Graves. Rufus and Edmond never gave him much—just one thing:
Stay away.
Too much unknown. Too much weight tied to that man.
He hoped he'd never have to deal with Mr. Graves again. Solomon unsettled him. Something in Levi's gut just screamed wrong every time he thought about him.
So once the graveyard was far enough behind, he felt his shoulders finally loosen.
The Fairweather Shipyard sat still. Quiet, but not dead. A few distant clangs and shouts echoed from the docks, but this was the first time he'd been here this early on a Sunday.
Crossing the walkway, the moment his boots hit the planks, something in him eased. Familiar sounds, the smell of metal and steam—it felt safer here.
Until something flickered in the corner of his eye.
He froze.
From a distance, through the side window of a large floating warehouse, he caught movement. Fast. Too fast.
His eyes adjusted, glowing faintly as he focused in.
Someone—or something—moved inside. Quick. Fluid. Not right.
Every hair on his arm stood up.
"Somethin's off."
He wasn't panicked. Not yet. But curiosity got the better of him.
He was on the payroll now, after all.
He started walking over like it was nothing, casual steps. But the flashes inside didn't stop. Whoever was in there, they were moving with purpose. Fast.
Decided to change tactics—he dipped behind a stack of crates, sticking to cover as he worked his way forward.
Pressed his back to the outer wall. That's when he heard it. Voices. Not just one.
He crouched low.
Facing the wall, his eyes flared, vision shifting to thermal. The world bled color. What he saw next twisted his gut.
Two heat signatures sprawled on the ground. Still breathing, but flat. Unmoving.
A few others—sitting. Huddled. More were being hauled over to join them.
At least three men doing the dragging.
"What the hell's goin' on?"
He swept the whole space. There was a large boat inside—moored and almost unloaded. The people coming off weren't dockhands.
They were women. Slender and feminine.
They were being herded toward a smaller vessel like cargo. Not a word spoken. Just movements, mechanical and cold.
He killed the heat vision, sucked in a breath, and hugged the wall.
'This ain't right. Those two on the ground aren't takin' a nap.'
Levi leaned up toward the window again, triggered thermal one more time—clear. No one close.
Back to normal vision, he eased up and looked inside.
"No fuckin' way in hell…"
Almost said it too loud.
The two on the floor? Face-down, blood leaking from their scalps. Unconscious—or heading for worse.
And the women. Natives, all eight of them. Scared and silent.
He followed the movement, found the three men corralling them. One turned—face clear.
Levi froze.
'Carl?!'
He ducked fast, heart hammering.
Mind racing.
'What the hell is he doin'?!'
If Carl was part of this... that meant others could be.
And unless Carl was planning to run—those two wounded men were already marked for the grave.
Levi clenched his fists, brain churning through options. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe those two on the floor were the ones doin' the dirt.
Then he remembered. Remembered what it was like to be taken, to wake up bound.
No. He'd seen it. The way it all moved in there. The body language. The pace. The silence.
Crime had a taste. A rhythm. Made men act a certain way—off beat. Levi'd seen it enough times to know when the tune was rotten.
Carl was in it. Deep.
"Fuck…"
Unarmed. No clue how far this thing reached. Every instinct told him to wait. To gather more. To find someone he could trust and pass it off to.
But he didn't trust anybody.
And they were already moving.
"Fuck it. Make noise, kill quick."
He stood. Inhaled deep. Locked his focus into the core humming in his chest.
Shrugging off his coat, he scanned the ground and grabbed a shard of scrap iron. Jagged edge. Sharp enough.
He started tearing.
"Sorry, Kati-bird. Least you won't have to mend this."
He twisted the shredded fabric into rough wraps, binding them tight around his head and hair, only his eyes left uncovered.
No face. No name. Just smoke.
Twist. Click.
His arm shifted—plates unfolding, blade locking into place. This version of him, Carl hadn't seen.
And if Levi had to disappear into the dark, best they never know who it was that came knocking.
He rolled his neck, exhaled through grit teeth, and muttered low.
"Might be a good way to relieve some stress. Let's see what these bastards are up to."