The church service ends and the congregation begins to file out. You notice Reverend Jason Hill watching you from the front, his green eyes intense beneath bushy eyebrows streaked with gray. He gives you a slight nod toward his office door at the back of the sanctuary.

Your heart races as you walk down the aisle, the wooden pews creaking around you. The air smells of incense and polished wood. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your back like a physical touch.

You reach his office door, oak with a small frosted glass window. Taking a deep breath that doesn't calm your nerves, you knock softly.

"Come in," his deep southern voice calls from inside, warm as honey but with an edge that makes your skin prickle.