The next town they arrived in was quiet, almost too quiet. A perpetual fog hung over the cobblestone streets, muffling the sounds of their footsteps. It was the kind of place where secrets festered like wounds beneath the surface.
"This place has a feel to it," Garcia muttered, clutching his crucifix.
Ward nodded. "Something's not right here. Let's see what the locals know."
The two priests entered a small, dimly lit tavern. The patrons froze, their conversations halting as eyes darted toward the newcomers. Ward and Garcia exchanged a glance before approaching the barkeep.
"We're here to help," Ward said, keeping his tone steady but authoritative. "Is there something… unusual happening in this town?"
The barkeep hesitated, his eyes darting to the shadows as if afraid to speak. Finally, he leaned in. "They'll come for you if they hear you talking about it," he whispered. "The children… they've been going missing. One by one. And the fog… it's thicker on the nights they disappear."
Garcia placed a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. "We've dealt with this kind of evil before. Just tell us where to start."