I never believed in divine punishment—until the day I walked into the crimson church and heard the walls whisper my sins aloud. Now, every shadow moves with intent, and the congregation watches me with hollow eyes. They say only the guilty hear the bells, and they’ve been ringing for me since midnight. This isn’t a place of worship. It’s a trial. And if I don’t confess what I’ve done by dawn, the church will do it for me.