Jack kept his head down as he entered Temple Square, the mist clinging low across the stone. Through it, the Temple of Kayla rose slowly into view.
It was bigger than he remembered. Square, heavy stone stacked high, each level carved with figures worn smooth by time. The place had weight to it. Age. The kind of building that had seen things.
As he drew closer, his eyes lifted to the symbol above the main doors. He slowed.
Same curve. Same shape. No mistake.
Jack moved off to the edge of the square and settled into the shadow of a low wall, keeping the temple in clear view. His body ached - not sharp pain, just a deep, dull reminder, like he'd taken a fall down some steep steps. He ignored it.
The square wasn't still. People moved around him in a steady flow - a woman lighting a small candle at a street shrine, shielding the flame from the mist with her hand; a cart rattling past too close, forcing Jack to shift his footing; a beggar calling out half-hearted blessings to anyone who would meet his eye. No one did.
Jack kept his position. People came and went through the main doors in a steady stream - dockworkers, women with shawls pulled tight, a few better-dressed types. Most paused before entering, a touch to the stone, a murmur, a bowed head. Kayla. Life and death both. Pray for a safe birth. Pray for a clean passing.
Jack watched for a while, then shifted position, crossing the square at an angle until he had a clearer view of the side of the building.
A smaller door. Plain. Set into the stone with none of the carving or show of the front.
Fewer people used it. And none of them stopped. They approached, gave a quick knock, and the door opened almost immediately - no prayer, no hesitation, straight inside. Jack watched them closely. All sorts - some in decent coats, some in rough clothes, mostly men but not all. None of them lingered. No one looked around. No one spoke.
Jack leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
Two men stood not far from the door, hands loose near the blades at their hips. Not for show. After a few minutes they moved off, circling around the side of the temple. Two others took their place without a word.
Jack stayed where he was and counted it. Five minutes. Then again.
A man approached the side gate and made for the door. One of the guards stepped in front of him immediately, blocking the way and jerking his head toward the main entrance. The man hesitated, then shook his head, trying to push past.
It didn't go well.
The guard drove a hand into his chest and shoved him back hard enough that he stumbled on the wet stone.
"Front," the guard said.
The man looked like he might argue. He didn't. After a second he turned and walked away, rubbing at his chest.
Jack watched him disappear into the mist. Twenty minutes passed before the first pair returned, taking up position as if they had never left.
Too many guards for a temple.
Jack exhaled slowly through his nose. Better see what's going on inside.
***
He joined the next small group heading through the main doors, matching their pace, their posture. At the threshold he dipped his head slightly, murmuring something under his breath - a half-formed prayer for Kate's passing. He didn't believe in any of it. But there was no harm in it either, and more importantly, it made him look like he did.
No one stopped him. No questions. No looks.
Inside, the air was thick with incense. The light was low, candles set in clusters along the walls and around the altar, their glow barely pushing back the shadows. The space was quiet but not empty - rows of kneeling figures, heads bowed, hands clasped, others moving along the sides, placing small offerings, speaking softly.
Jack slipped into an open spot on one of the benches and bowed his head. From the outside, just another man at prayer. From where he sat, he could see most of the room. A priest stood near the front, speaking quietly with a pair of supplicants. Another moved between the rows, slow and deliberate. But not many.
Jack let his gaze drift, careful, unfocused - never fixing too long on any one thing.
Someone knelt beside him. He lowered his head further, bringing his hands together. The man beside him murmured something under his breath. Jack didn't respond. After a moment the man settled, attention turning inward again.
Jack let his gaze drift upward. The ceiling rose high above the rows, lost in shadow where the candlelight couldn't reach. What light there was caught on painted panels - figures worked into the stone and colour, some pale and soft, others darker, sharper. Birth and death set side by side. A woman cradling an infant. A body laid out on a slab. Two sides of the same crown. All of it watched from above.
Jack lowered his eyes again. As he did, he saw it.
A balcony running along the second level at the back of the temple. Two men stood there, half in shadow. Not priests.
One shifted slightly, and for a moment his sleeve pulled back.
Jack leaned forward, just a fraction.
Was that -
He blinked. Gone.
Maybe nothing. Maybe not.
A shadow fell across him. Jack looked up just enough to see a priest standing nearby, watching him.
"You're hurt," the man said quietly.
Jack blinked, as if pulled from prayer, then dipped his head again. "Nothing serious."
The priest didn't move. "Kayla watches over the wounded as well as the dying."
Jack gave a small nod, keeping his eyes down.
"I'll keep that in mind."
A pause. Then the priest moved on.
Jack let out a slow breath through his nose
Jack lowered his head again, counting a breath, then another. Then he rose - slow, unhurried - and moved along the edge of the room, keeping to the darker spaces, until he stood beneath the balcony.
Up close, the angle was wrong and it was harder to see them. But there - a narrow opening behind a hanging tapestry. Jack let his eyes move past it once, then again. A spiral staircase. Hidden, but not well enough.
He turned slightly, scanning the room behind him. No one watching. The nearest kneeling figure hadn't moved. The priest at the front was still occupied.
Jack hesitated. He could leave now - walk back out the way he came, forget it, pick up the job, be at the meeting on time. Clean. Simple. Safe.
His jaw tightened.
Jack slipped behind the tapestry.
***
The staircase was tight, stone worn smooth in the centre from years of use. It twisted upward, narrow enough that his shoulder brushed the wall as he climbed. He kept his steps light, slow, listening. Nothing but the faint murmur from below.
At the top, the space opened out onto the balcony.
Empty.
Jack stilled. The two men were gone. For a moment he thought he'd imagined it - the mark, the whole thing. Then he saw the door.
Set into the back wall, just off the balcony. Not fully closed. A thin line of darkness beyond it.
He stepped closer and paused.
He should be halfway across the city by now, heading for the package. Instead -
Jack glanced back once at the staircase. Then at the door.
Could be nothing. Could be something.
He pushed it open and stepped through.