The night was watching. Rome lay beneath a sky choked with storm clouds, the moon a pale ghost behind a shifting veil of black. 


 The wind slithered through the streets, curling between ancient alleyways, whispering against the faceless statues that lined the rooftops. 



The streetlights flickered erratically, some guttering out as if swallowed by the night itself. Others cast pale pools of light onto the cobblestone streets, but their glow felt weak, unable to penetrate the shadows pressing in from all sides. 

The air was thick, the scent of rain and burning incense clinging to the city like a funeral shroud. In a room on the upper floor of a decayed building, a man sat in the glow of a dying candle. 
Gabriel Cross. He was not a man who belonged in the light. The years had carved their mark on him,a face of sharp, unyielding angles, cheekbones hollowed by sleepless nights, a jaw shadowed in rough stubble.
 His skin, once fair, had taken on a worn pallor, like parchment left too long in candle smoke. His eyes, deep-set and storm-gray, were not the kind that looked away from the darkness. They were the kind that had stared into it for too long. Beneath them, dark circles bruised the skin, hollowing his gaze further. 
His brows, thick but furrowed with perpetual tension, cast shadows over his expression, making him seem carved from stone. His hair, once neatly kept, fell in unkempt waves, a deep brown touched with early streaks of silver at the temples. 
The kind of aging that came not from time, but from knowing too much. He was dressed in black. Always black. A long cassock, worn at the edges, brushed against his boots as he moved. Beneath it, a high-collared shirt fastened at his throat, not out of devotion, but out of habit. The fabric was creased from restless hands running over it, as if he were always preparing for something, always waiting for a battle that had not yet come. 
Around his neck, a silver chain hung low, bearing a crucifix so old that the figure of Christ was nearly worn smooth. A second chain carried something far more troubling, a small vial of thick, dark liquid. Not holy water. Something older. Something forbidden. His right hand bore a rosary, its beads dull from years of use, the silver cross at the end blackened by something other than time. His fingers, calloused from gripping weapons and relics alike, tapped lightly against the wood of the desk as he stared into the candlelight. His voice, when he spoke, was rough. A voice shaped by cigarettes, whiskey, and long-forgotten prayers. 
The kind of voice that spoke softly, because it had no need to be loud to be heard. And tonight, as the wind howled beyond his window, he felt it. Something was out there. Watching. Then, the knock came. Soft. Deliberate. The candle trembled. Gabriel’s breath slowed. No one should be here. 
The knock came again. And this time, it was closer. A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. Gabriel turned, but nothing was there. Only the candlelight bending against the walls, stretching the shadows into something too long, too thin. Another knock. This time, it wasn’t at the door. It was behind him. The knock was inside the room. Gabriel froze. The candle’s flame shuddered violently, as if gasping for breath, then died.

 Darkness rushed in like a living thing, pressing against his skin, settling into the crevices of the room. The heavy scent of burning incense turned stale, soured, laced with something damp and old, like rotting wood in an abandoned church. He moved slowly, his breath steady but deep, controlled. His fingers brushed against the pistol hidden beneath his desk, but he didn’t reach for it. Bullets did nothing against things like this. A whisper, too soft to be the wind, too close to be outside the walls. "You were never meant to survive, Gabriel." The voice was not human. Not entirely. It came from everywhere and nowhere. A distortion in the air itself. Gabriel’s eyes flicked toward the mirror across the room.
 The darkness obscured most of his reflection, but something was there, a figure standing behind him, just out of reach of the candle’s last glow. His pulse slowed. Not from fear. From calculation. His left hand moved, fingers wrapping around the worn crucifix at his throat, thumb pressing against the smoothed-out figure of Christ. His lips barely parted as he whispered a word beneath his breath, Latin, ancient and sharp. 
The air in the room shifted. The whispering stopped. Something in the mirror moved. A shape, blurred at the edges, taller than a man, thinner, its neck tilting at an unnatural angle. Its body was a stain against the dark, a silhouette where no shadow should be. Gabriel didn’t turn. He didn’t have to. "What do you want?" His voice was steady, low, as if speaking would keep the thing from pressing closer. The shape in the mirror tilted its head further, almost inquisitively. 
Then, without sound, it bent. Its form cracked, shifting in ways that bone and flesh should not allow, its head lowering toward his shoulder, its mouth, if it had one, hovering near his ear. "You left the door open." The whisper crawled along his skin, burrowing into his chest, wrapping around his ribs. The door behind him creaked. Gabriel moved. In one swift motion, he grabbed the candle from the desk and hurled it toward the door. 
The wax hit the wood, but there was no impact. No sound. The door was already open. And something was standing in the threshold. A figure in a hood, its robes deep red, the color of drying blood. Gabriel’s body tensed. He recognized that robe. The Order of Malphas. The hooded figure did not speak. It only lifted a single hand, fingers too long, nails blackened, and pointed toward the envelope on his desk. Gabriel looked down. The letter he had opened, the one that had been sealed with black wax, was still closed. The seal unbroken. 

The blood-red ink of its message was gone. His breath slowed. When he looked back up, the figure in the doorway was gone. The door was closed. The air was still. The room was exactly as it had been before the knocking began. But Gabriel knew better. The game had already started. And this time, there would be no escape. The envelope still lay on the desk, its wax seal unbroken. The message that had been written in blood-red ink was gone,as if it had never existed. Gabriel didn’t touch it. He knew better than to trust his own eyes. Instead, he moved carefully, the way a man steps through a graveyard at midnight, aware that something unseen might be listening. 
His fingers brushed against the pistol hidden beneath his books, but his instincts told him bullets weren’t what he needed tonight. He needed answers. Gabriel turned toward the door, the one that had creaked open moments ago, the one now shut as if it had never moved. He reached out, fingers brushing against the handle. Cold. 

Not the kind of cold from a draft. Something else. The temperature of stone buried deep beneath the earth. The touch of something ancient. He exhaled slowly, then unlocked the door. The hallway beyond was still and silent, lined with peeling wallpaper and dim sconces that flickered erratically. Something smelled off. Gabriel had lived in this decayed building long enough to recognize its usual rot, 
the damp musk of water damage, the lingering smoke of a neighbor’s cigarette. But now? Now, the air carried the scent of something burned. Not fire. Flesh. His grip on the doorknob tightened. He stepped forward, his boots making no sound against the worn wooden floor. Down the hall, near the stairwell, the old window rattled against a sudden gust of wind. But there was no wind tonight. Gabriel’s jaw tightened. His pulse stayed steady, years of facing the unholy had taught him not to waste fear. But that didn’t mean he ignored it. 
Then he saw it. At the end of the corridor, beneath the dying glow of a flickering light, stood a figure. Draped in red robes, hood drawn low, face hidden. The same hooded figure that had been in his doorway. But this time, it was not alone. There were three of them. All standing perfectly still. All facing him. Gabriel didn’t move. He had been hunted before. 
But this felt different. This wasn’t just a warning. It was an invitation. A test to see if he would run. Slowly, carefully, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver relic, a medallion engraved with a sigil older than the Church itself. He let it dangle between his fingers, catching the weak light of the sconces. "Tell your master I don’t answer to shadows." His voice was low, rough. The figures did not move. The hallway light flickered. Once. Twice. And then, they were gone. Not a blink. Not a turn. One moment, three figures stood in the corridor. The next, emptiness. As if they had never been there. Gabriel’s jaw clenched. 
His fingers tightened around the relic. Whatever this was, it wasn’t over. It had barely begun. And somewhere in the distance, carried on a wind that did not blow something laughed. The Knock That Changed Everything The whiskey burned in his throat as he swallowed it down, his gaze lingering on the relics scattered across his desk, a rusted crucifix, a worn prayer book, a dagger carved with sigils older than Rome itself. 

Brunel Hyphen Law Scholarship – International Human Rights Law LLM

In collaboration with alumna Eniola Aluko MBE and Hyphen Sports, offers the Brunel Hyphen Law Scholarship. This scholarship supports outstanding students who wish to pursue the International Human Rights Law LLM programme at Brunel Law School.
Scholarship Value
Amount: £4,500 tuition fee waiver
Available Awards: 3 scholarships
Programme: International Human Rights Law LLM (one-year, full-time)
Eligible Entry: September 2024 and January 2025
Who Can Apply?
To be considered, applicants must:
1. Apply for the International Human Rights Law LLM here:
2. Hold an offer of admission for the programme starting in January 2025.
3. Complete the Hyphen Scholarship application form here:
Deadline for January 2025 entry:
📅 Thursday, 19 December 2024 at 12 pm (UK time).
Key Eligibility Notes
Open to UK and international students (including EU).
Scholarships are not available for deferred entry or students enrolled at Brunel Pathway College (BPC) or Brunel Language Centre (BLC).
Applicants must commit to full-time study.
Scholarship Conditions
The award is applied as a tuition fee waiver for the first year of study.
Awardees will still need to pay the standard £5,000 deposit (for international students).
Winners may serve as Brunel Ambassadors, representing the Law School and Hyphen at events.
Scholarships cannot be combined with certain other fee waivers (with limited exceptions such as Graduate Discount).
Application & Selection Process
Applications will be assessed by the Hyphen scholarship allocation panel against set criteria.
Selection includes reviewing the applicant’s written statement.
Final decisions by the panel are binding and cannot be appealed.
Important Links
Full Scholarship Details – Brunel Hyphen Law Scholarship:
Apply for the International Human Rights Law LLM:
Scholarship Application Form:

Then, the knock came. Soft. Deliberate. Gabriel’s breath slowed. The candle trembled. No one should be here. He stood, moving carefully, silently. His hand brushed against the pistol beneath the desk, but he didn’t reach for it. 
There were things in this world that bullets could not kill. Another knock. He pulled the door open. And there she was. She was in her early forties, though the deep lines around her eyes made her seem older. Her skin, pale and drawn, carried the sickly hue of someone who had spent too many nights awake, too many days trapped in the kind of fear that aged a person from the inside out. 
 Her dark hair was pulled into a loose knot at the base of her neck, though strands had fallen free, clinging to her damp skin. The rain hadn’t reached full downpour yet, but the mist in the air had settled over her like a second skin. She smelled of damp wool and incense, of candle smoke that had burned too long in a room where prayers went unanswered. But it was her eyes that held him still. 
 Hollow. Not the kind of hollow that came from grief, but the kind left behind when someone had already seen too much. Her hands trembled as she clutched the rosary against her chest, the wooden beads pressed deep into her fingers, as if she could squeeze salvation from them. She opened her mouth to speak, but at first, nothing came. Gabriel had seen this before. 

The kind of terror that stole words before they could form. Her coat was damp from the night air, but she barely seemed to notice. Gabriel took one look at her and already knew why she had come. "I don’t do this anymore," he said, moving to close the door. But she didn’t let him. "Please," she whispered, voice raw. Desperate. Gabriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had heard that tone before. "What’s the name?" he muttered, already regretting asking. The woman’s lips trembled. "Evelyn. My daughter." Gabriel exhaled, leaning against the doorframe. He had exorcised more children than he cared to count. And he had lost too many of them. "Call a priest," he muttered. "I did," she rasped. "They won’t come. No one will. Not after what happened to the last one." That made him pause. "The last one?"
 The woman nodded, her throat working around the words. "He didn’t make it through the night." Gabriel closed his eyes briefly. He had walked away from this life years ago. But something about this was different. Still, he shook his head. "I can’t help you." Tears filled the woman’s eyes, but she did not beg. She only spoke four words. Words that made Gabriel’s blood run cold. "The demon knows you." His grip on the doorframe tightened. "It spoke your name, Mr. Cross." The wind outside shifted, moaning through the alleyways. Gabriel inhaled slowly, staring at the woman. He had spent a decade in hiding. But something had found him. And it was calling him back.