The light was fading as Jack, Sam, and Lila moved through the remains of a desolate neighborhood, the buildings stripped down to their skeletal frames, blackened from past fires. They were searching for somewhere to spend the night, somewhere far enough from the scene of their last ambush to feel safe, if only temporarily. Jack’s gaze was sharp, his senses finely attuned to any sign of movement.

As they approached an old garage with a rusted door barely hanging on its hinges, Jack caught a glimpse of something—someone—inside. A figure sat huddled against the far wall, thin and ragged, rocking slightly as he muttered to himself. Jack motioned for Sam and Lila to stay back, raising his machete as he approached.

The man looked up, his eyes wide and wild, darting between Jack and the others with a mix of fear and desperation. His clothes were tattered, marked with faded symbols of the Sanctified, though they looked as if he’d tried to scratch them out. His face was gaunt, his skin pale, and his hands shook as he clutched a small, battered book to his chest.

“Stay back!” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “I don’t want any trouble. Not anymore…”

Jack raised an eyebrow, taking a cautious step forward. “Relax. We’re not here to hurt you. But you’ve got a symbol on you I don’t particularly trust.”

The man’s gaze dropped to the scratched-out markings on his clothes, and a look of shame flickered across his face. “I… I was one of them. A Sanctified. But I left. Couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t keep lying to myself.”

Sam glanced at Jack, his expression wary but intrigued. “What’s your name?”

The man hesitated, his eyes darting to Jack’s machete before he replied, his voice barely a whisper. “Ezra.”

Jack kept his distance, his gaze hard. “Alright, Ezra. Why’d you leave?”

Ezra swallowed, his gaze shifting as if he couldn’t bear to look any of them in the eye. “Magnus… he talks about salvation, about bringing order to the wasteland. But it’s all a lie. All he wants is control. He twists people’s minds, makes them believe they’re chosen, that they have some divine purpose.” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “I was one of them. Believed every word… until I couldn’t.”

Jack’s grip on his machete relaxed, though he didn’t lower it. “And what’s stopping you from going back? From running straight to Magnus and telling him where to find us?”

Ezra flinched, the shame on his face deepening. “I don’t want that. I want… I want to be free. But it’s not easy.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s like he’s still in my head, like I can’t escape him no matter how far I run.”

Lila took a cautious step forward, her eyes wide with curiosity. “But you’re free now, right?”

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Ezra looked at her, a haunted expression in his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be free. He called it The Calling. A way to mark those who defy him, to make them live in fear. I tried to resist, but…” He trailed off, his voice breaking.

Jack exchanged a look with Sam, his skepticism deepening. This man was fractured, struggling against the grip Magnus still had on him, and Jack wasn’t sure he could be trusted. But Sam’s expression softened, a hint of compassion in his eyes.

“Ezra,” Sam said gently, “we’re looking for a place called Refuge. Do you know anything about it?”

Ezra’s face tightened, his eyes darting away. “Everyone knows Refuge. The Sanctified speak of it like a prize, a place Magnus believes should be his. He says it’s a city of the lost, where people go when they’re too weak to survive on their own. He calls it… a den of heretics.” Ezra shuddered, his voice growing fainter. “But some say it’s real—a place where people are rebuilding. Trying to live.”

Jack’s gaze narrowed, the words sinking in. “You know a way to get there?”

Ezra nodded, though his expression was distant, as if reliving some hidden horror. “There’s a path… an old road. I can take you part of the way, but…” He faltered, his voice trembling. “If Magnus finds out… if he knows I helped you…”

Jack’s patience was wearing thin, but he kept his voice steady. “You’re here now, Ezra. No one’s forcing you to go back to Magnus. But if you want out, you’re going to have to make a choice.”

Ezra looked at Jack, a flicker of defiance in his gaze. “I know. I chose to leave, and I’ll keep choosing it. Every day if I have to.”

Jack nodded, though he remained cautious. He could see that Ezra was teetering on the edge, a man broken but clinging to his sense of self. If Magnus’s grip was as strong as it seemed, Ezra would need all the help he could get to break free.

They moved through the wasteland in tense silence, with Ezra leading the way, his steps unsteady but determined. Every so often, he would mutter under his breath, fragments of Sanctified phrases that made Jack’s skin crawl. But Lila watched him with a strange fascination, her gaze thoughtful as she observed the way he struggled against his own mind.

As night began to fall, they reached a sheltered spot, and Jack gestured for them to set up camp. Sam sat down beside Ezra, keeping a respectful distance, while Lila watched him with a mix of empathy and curiosity.

“Is it… hard to leave something like that behind?” Lila asked, her voice soft.

Ezra looked at her, his face lined with pain. “Harder than you think. Magnus doesn’t just lead—he takes over. Makes you believe you’re nothing without him. Even now… sometimes I wonder if he’s right. But then…” He took a shaky breath. “Then I remember what he made us do. How he made us hurt people, just to prove ourselves.”

Jack listened, his jaw clenched. He didn’t trust Ezra, not completely, but he could see the man was struggling, fighting against a darkness that ran deep. In some twisted way, Ezra was a reminder of the world they were trying to leave behind—the same world that Magnus wanted to shape in his image.

As they settled in for the night, Ezra offered one last piece of advice. “When you get to Refuge, be careful. Magnus believes it’s his for the taking, and he’ll send everything he has to make it his own.” His gaze shifted to Jack, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Maybe… maybe you can stop him.”

Jack met his gaze, the unspoken weight of responsibility settling over him. He hadn’t asked for any of this—for followers, for enemies, for the burden of keeping people safe. But now, it felt as if there was no turning back.

For as long as he was breathing, he would fight to make sure Magnus’s twisted vision never took hold.