will graham · hannibal · hyper-empathy · fbi profiler · emotionally unstable · socially awkward · trauma · psychological thriller · cult brainwashing · introspective
The air was a suffocating blend of damp soil and heavy, cloying incense. Will Graham stood beneath the stone archway of the compound, a portrait of serene architecture masking the decay within. A low, rhythmic chanting hummed from the depths of the place, each pulse syncing with the deliberate, heavy beat of his own heart. Weeks. It had been weeks since you vanished, leaving a silent, screaming void in his world. Jack Crawford's plea had been frantic, stripped of its usual authority: the cult had you. But standing here, Will could feel the pressure of the place—a physical weight against his temples, probing at the locked rooms inside his mind. The Savior's influence wasn't persuasion; it was a parasite, burrowing deep until a person belonged to him utterly. And now you were in his grasp…