I wake up smiling.

  I don’t mean to. It just… happens.

  My whole body feels light, like I’m still lying under the stars with Gabriel, listening to him breathe beside me.

  I shove the blankets off and sit up, rubbing my eyes.

  The house is quiet, which means Mother is awake somewhere, listening for footsteps like she always does.

  But even that doesn’t bother me right now. Not really.

  I can’t stop smiling.

  I try. I really do.

  I press my lips together and force my face into something serious, but the memory of Gabriel’s laugh—light and careless and so close I could feel it—pushes its way back in.

  My smile returns before I can stop it.

  I bury my face in my hands.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, laughing into my palms. “What is wrong with me?”

  I drag myself out of bed before I can start grinning at the ceiling again and shuffle down the hallway.

  The floorboards creak under my socks, but I’m too lightheaded to care.

  I slip into the bathroom and flick on the light.

  The mirror hits me like a slap.

  I look… ridiculous.

  My hair sticks up in every direction. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes look brighter than they have in—God, I don’t even know how long.

  I lean closer, gripping the sink, and the smile grows.

  I finally manage to tame my hair with a bit of water, though the flush in my cheeks refuses to fade.

  I take one last breath, smoothing my expression into something neutral—or as neutral as I can manage—and head into the dining room.

  The morning sunlight shines through the blinds, casting sharp, golden bars across the wooden table.

  My mother is already there, hands folded neatly, wearing a pale blue dress I’ve never seen before. She’s even pinned her hair back with a silver clip from the bottom of her jewelry box.

  She smiles at me.

  It’s a soft, gentle smile.

  I freeze.

  My stomach is doing a slow, nauseous roll.

  The last time she looked at me that sweetly was last night, right before I told her the truth about the woods—and right before she used that truth to lock me in my room.

  I’m starting to realize that when Mama is "sweet," she’s usually about to take something away from me.

  “Good morning, darling,” she says.

  “Good morning,” I try, my voice cracking.

  I stay near the hallway, ready to bolt.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  I blink.

  “Uh… morning?”

  “It is eleven-fifty,” she says, the smile staying perfectly in place. “And we were supposed to leave at nine.”

  I stare at her.

  “Leave for what?”

  “Church, Daniel. Julian invited us. It is important to him. And therefore,”—she places a hand over her heart—“it is important to us.”

  I rub my face, feeling the headache starting.

  “Mother, I didn’t even know we were going. Besides…”

  I pause, letting a sharp, sarcastic edge hit my voice.

  “I’m sorry, I thought I was ‘grounded.’”

  Mother doesn't flinch.

  Instead, her smile only grows wider.

  “Grounding is for the body, Daniel,” she says, as if she’s quoting a textbook. “Mass is for the soul. I am simply granting you temporary spiritual parole. You can go back to being a prisoner once you’ve finished your Hail Marys.”

  I stare at her.

  “I’m not converting.”

  “No one is converting. We are… expanding. Supporting Julian in his faith.”

  “I don’t want to support Julian in anything! Why does it even matter if I sleep in? It’s my sleep. My bed. My day.”

  Mama sets her cup down with a deliberate clink that echoes like a gunshot.

  She slowly looks up at me with that intimidating, bone-chilling stare—the one that makes you want to check if you’ve accidentally stopped breathing.

  "What did you say to me?" she asks, her voice dangerously low.

  I swallow, trying to stay brave.

  "I said… It’s my day. I’m the exhausted one."

  "Okay, well, this is my house!" she fires back, leaning over the table. “And in my house, we do not sleep through church. You want to live by your own clock? Go live in a clock tower! Here, we follow the rules."

  "Fine!" I snap, crossing my arms. "Then I won't sleep here!"

  "Fine! Then don't eat the bread I stood in line for three hours to get! Don't wear the boots I traded my last good shawl for! Don't use the heat from my stove!"

  She lifts her hand to her chest, her voice rising like she’s starring in a tragic opera.

  "You are so ungrateful, Daniel! I do everything for you! I cook, I clean, I scrub the mud off your floor—I am the one who spent years cleaning your messes and powdering your little behind and your tiny bird so you wouldn't get a rash!"

  “Okay!” I cut in, practically throwing my hands over my ears. "Okay, I get it! I’m a terrible, ungrateful son! I don’t know what you expect of me!”

  “I expect you to be grateful!” she snaps, the "sweet" mask slipping entirely.

  Then, calmer, “Julian is trying to give us a new life. A better life. A Christian life. It’s safer this way.”

  “We’re Jewish!”

  “We can be both!” she insists.

  “No, we can’t!”

  “We can try!”

  “I don’t want to try!”

  She folds her arms, her eyes narrowing.

  “Well, you should have thought about that before you vanished last night. If you are old enough to prowl the streets like a common thief with that... that boy, then you are old enough to sit in a pew and act like a son I can be proud of.”

  My breath catches as I open my mouth to defend myself—but the words die before they reach my lips.

  I just looked at her, feeling a strange, hollow coldness spreading through my chest.

  I stand in the middle of the dining room, the floorboards cold beneath my socks, my hands hovering uselessly at my sides while my mother looks at me like a stranger she’s ashamed of.

  The silence between us stretches, thick and suffocating, until the only sound is the frantic thrum of my own heart.

  Then, suddenly—knock, knock, knock.

  Mother freezes.

  I freeze.

  We both stare at each other.

  She smoothes her apron with trembling hands and shoots me one final, warning glare.

  "Sit up straight," she hisses, before gliding toward the door and pulling it open.

  There stands Julian.

  He is a sharp contrast to the grey morning, dressed in a crisp black suit that looks like it has never seen a speck of dust, his coat perfectly tailored.

  "Marianna," he says, his voice dropping into a low, resonant tone.

  He looks at her with an intensity that makes me want to look away.

  "I trust you and Daniel are ready for the service?”

  Mother’s hand goes straight to her throat, her expression shifting to one of deep regret.

  "Oh, Julian... I am so sorry. We... we must have gotten up late. The morning simply got away from us."

  Julian lets out a short, easy laugh that echoes in the quiet hallway.

  "Don't worry yourself, Marianna. I was late rising myself. Truth be told, I still have a few deliveries to make before we can head to the parish."

  He steps into the warmth of the foyer, his eyes flicking over to me.

  I am still standing by the table, my hand hovering over a piece of dry bread I’ve barely touched.

  "There is no need to wait on my account," Julian continues, his gaze shifting to me. "In fact, Daniel, you might as well go out and find your friends for a little while. Clear your head while I finish my errands."

  I blink.

  My hand drops to the table.

  Freedom?

  Just like that?

  "Julian, no," Mother interrupts, her voice hushed and scandalized.

  She steps closer to him, leaning in to whisper, though in the small room, I hear every word.

  "Daniel is grounded. He was out until all hours last night... with a boy."

  She looks at Julian, probably waiting for him to be as outraged as she was, but Julian doesn’t even flinch.

  He simply raises a dark eyebrow.

  "Is that so?" Julian asks quietly.

  He turns back to Mother, his voice gentle but firm.

  "Marianna, he is a teenage boy. He cannot function cooped up in a room all day. Besides," he adds, his eyes cutting back to me with a look that feels like he was reading my thoughts, "Daniel is responsible for who he chooses to interact with. He has to learn eventually."

  Then, Julian’s tone shifts.

  "You have exactly twenty minutes, Daniel," he says firmly. "Go out. Breathe. See your friends. But if you are not back and ready to leave for the service by the time I return, we will have a very different conversation. Understood?"

  I gulp.

  "Yes, sir.”

  I don’t wait for Mother to find a reason to stop me.

  I shove the last bit of bread into my mouth, my heart hammering against my ribs.

  I scramble to my room, rip off my sleeping clothes, and yank on my good trousers and shirt in a total blur.

  Within a flash, I am back in the hallway, dodging my mother’s confused stare, and bursting out the door into the cold air.

  The town falls away behind me, replaced by the sharp, clean scent of pine and the crunch of frozen needles under my boots.

  I walk with my head down, staring at the scuffs on my shoes and replaying the way the kitchen went dead quiet the second Julian spoke.

  I still can't stand him—how he’s always so calm, like nothing in the world can actually touch him—but he got me out of that house.

  It’s a total pain to owe him anything, and it's even worse that I can still hear his voice stuck in my head.

  I don’t hear Gabriel at first.

  I’m too busy trying to shake the morning off.

  Then, a flash of movement on the high ridge to my left catches my eye.

  I look up.

  Standing against the pale sky, silhouetted by the towering pines, is Gabriel.

  He’s perched on the edge of the hill like he’s grown there, eyes scanning the empty field that stretches between us.

  "Ho there, Wendy!" he calls out, his voice steady and sharp.

  "See any activity on the main road? I’ve been watching the pass for an hour. The scouts are quiet, but the air feels thin."

  I blink, pulling myself back to the trail.

  I take a breath, forcing the image of the dining room into the back of my mind.

  "It's quiet," I call back, though my voice feels a little thin.

  "You're dragging your feet, Daniel," Gabriel says, his eyes narrowing as he studies my posture.

  “What?”

  "You look like you're carrying the whole town on your shoulders."

  He reaches down into the tall, yellow grass and pulls out the wooden sword he’d been whittling.

  "Defend yourself!" he yells.

  He launches it.

  The wood spins through the air, whistling as it cuts through the wind.

  I don't move until the last second, reaching up and snatching it out of the air with a sharp thwack against my palm.

  I look down at the rough-hewn pine, the scent of fresh sap hitting me instantly.

  I stand, raising a brow as I gaze at the little wooden sword.

  “You're lucky I'm the one who found you and not a boarding party,” he says, already walking along the ridge to match my pace on the trail below. “You look like you’re heading to a hanging.”

  "Maybe," I say.

  I try to smile at him, but it feels heavy, only pulling up one corner of my mouth.

  "But I think I can handle a few pirates. Before I have to go back."

  Gabriel stops walking.

  He looks down at me, his head tilted.

  He sees the way I’m gripping the wood, and he sees the Sunday collar I'm wearing, but he doesn't ask.

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  I don't stop.

  I keep walking, the wooden sword gripped loosely in my hand, my eyes fixed on the path ahead.

  Behind me, I hear the sound of boots sliding through dirt and dry brush as Gabriel scrambles down the side of the hill.

  He lands a few feet behind me with a muffled thud, but I don't turn around.

  I just keep my steady, mechanical pace.

  A second later, the crunch of needles behind me quickens into a run.

  Gabriel catches up, pulling alongside my shoulder and matching my stride perfectly.

  He glances at my stiff collar and my polished shoes, his eyes wide with a sudden, dark curiosity, then leans in close, his shoulder bumping mine.

  "Who died?" he asks, his voice dropping into a low, excited whisper.

  He reaches out and catches my wrist, pulling my hand—and the wooden sword—closer to him like he’s checking for blood.

  "You're dressed for a funeral, Daniel. Was it a high-seas execution? A pirate king? Or did you finally take down one of the giants?"

  I look at him, my heart jumping at the sudden contact.

  "What? No. No one died, Gabriel."

  "Then why the black shoes?"

  He lets go of my wrist but stays right in my space, dancing a step ahead so he can walk backward.

  He levels the tip of his blade at my chest, his grin returning.

  "And why are you walking like you're on a deadline? How long did they give you before they pull the leash and drag you back to the graveyard?"

  I look at the sword, then back at his face.

  "Twenty minutes," I mutter, but for the first time all morning, the words don't feel like a weight.

  I lift my own wooden blade, lightly pushing his out of the way with a dry clack of pine.

  "I have twenty minutes to 'breathe the air' before the service."

  Gabriel’s grin widens.

  "Twenty minutes? Daniel, that’s a lifetime when the pirates are sleeping. Plenty of time to avenge whoever it is you're mourning."

  I catch up to his shoulder, finally letting out a breath I’ve been holding since breakfast.

  "Shut up," I say, though I'm finally starting to giggle.

  I nudge my elbow hard into his ribs, and he immediately tries to catch my arm in a headlock.

  "Then show me what you've got, Wendy," he whispers, laughing as we stumble over the frozen needles, wrestling each other for control of the path.

  "Before the clock strikes."

  We finally break apart, both of us breathless and grinning as we fall back into a steady pace.

  The trail narrows here, forcing us close enough that our shoulders graze every few steps.

  The morning sun has climbed higher, clearing the tops of the pines and hitting us full in the face.

  It’s blindingly bright, reflecting off the patches of melting frost until the whole world feels like it’s glowing.

  For the first time in months, I feel a flush of actual heat.

  My heavy coat and that stiff Sunday wool suddenly feel like a furnace, trapping my breath against my skin.

  It’s a strange, prickly warmth that has nothing to do with the weather, making my pulse thrum a little too fast in my ears whenever Gabriel leans into my space.

  "What are you staring at, Dan?" Gabriel asks.

  He’s grinning, his voice bouncing with that restless energy he always has.

  "Nothing," I say, squinting against the glare and holding a hand up to shield my eyes.

  I look over at him, and my breath catches for a second.

  His shirt is completely untucked, the top buttons gone or ignored, exposing the pale line of his chest and the sharp collarbones I can’t help but track.

  There are a few faint, jagged scars there—white lines from old scrapes and climbing accidents—and against the gold of the morning, he looks...

  I quickly look away, my heart doing a strange, heavy roll in my chest.

  “It’s just... You look like a mess. Like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.

  The sun is positioned directly behind his head, turning his messy hair into a halo of white-gold light.

  I have to screw my eyes shut nearly halfway to see him, my vision swimming with dark spots as I try to make out his expression.

  He looks like a shadow carved out of gold.

  "It’s aerodynamic," he says solemnly, though his eyes are dancing.

  "I need the airflow for high-speed maneuvers. You’d know that if you weren't walking like you've got a stick up your back."

  "I am walking perfectly fine," I mutter, my face feeling even hotter under the glare.

  "You're just being ridiculous."

  "You know," he says, leaning in until I can smell the pine and the cold air on his skin, "in the old texts, the only way to cure a soldier of a 'heavy shadow' is to share the burden."

  Before I can ask what that means, he grabs my forearm, pulls it up, and—with a completely straight face—licks a long stripe right up my wrist.

  "Gabriel!" I yelp, shoving him away as I stumble back.

  I frantically wipe my arm against my coat, my face turning a heat that definitely isn't from the sun.

  "What the heck?"

  Gabriel just stands there, framed by the blinding light, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

  "I'm checking for salt," he says with a shrug, his grin widening.

  "The pirates say you can tell how close a man is to breaking by how bitter his skin tastes. You're still sweet, Daniel. You're not breaking yet."

  I glare at him, my eyes watering from the light, but the irritation is a welcome distraction from the way my heart is currently hammering against my ribs.

  "You're so queer," I huff, though I can't stop the small, shaky laugh that escapes me.

  The laugh dies in my throat as Gabriel doesn't pull away.

  Instead, he steps closer, his shadow merging with mine until I can feel the heat of his breath.

  He tilts his head, his eyes searching mine with a look that’s suddenly much older than fifteen.

  "The best ones always are," he whispers, his voice dropping to a low, smooth hum.

  I stand paralyzed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

  He’s so close that the world beyond him disappears; all I can see is the gold in his eyes and the way his mouth is just a breath away from mine.

  I’m lightheaded, the sun and the heat finally reaching a breaking point.

  I part my lips, the air caught in my chest.

  "Gabriel—" I start, my voice barely a thread.

  VROOOOM.

  A low, powerful growl tears through the silence of the woods, vibrating in the very dirt beneath our boots.

  It isn't a sound of the forest; it’s the expensive, mechanical thrum of a high-performance engine.

  We both snap our heads toward the bend in the trail.

  A sleek, black motorcar rounds the corner, its polished chrome grill gleaming in the sunlight like a row of silver teeth.

  It’s a massive, predatory thing, all deep curves and shining metal, moving far too fast for a dirt path.

  The tires churn up the frozen needles, spitting them into the air like buckshot.

  "Whoa," Gabriel mutters, stepping back and shielding his eyes. "Is that a ghost?"

  The car doesn't slow down.

  If anything, it guns the engine.

  As it hits a deep, slushy puddle directly in front of us, the driver deliberately cuts the wheel in a sharp, theatrical skid.

  SPLAT.

  A massive wave of grey, icy mud and melted snow erupts into the air.

  I don’t even have time to blink before the freezing sludge slams into me, coating my face and Sunday wool from head to toe.

  I gasp, standing there in total horror, my mouth and eyes wide as the mud drips off my chin.

  The car comes to a perfectly balanced stop a few yards ahead, the engine idling with a steady, low vibration.

  The driver’s side window cranks down with a slow, mechanical click.

  Julian leans his elbow on the window frame.

  His dark hair is perfectly swept back, not a single strand disturbed by the wind.

  His hands remain casual on the steering wheel, encased in a pair of fine leather driving gloves that catch the light as he maintains a relaxed grip.

  He glances at me with a look of mild, amused concern, a slow, knowing wink tugging at the corner of his eye before he shifts his gaze to Gabriel.

  "Time for church, Daniel!" Julian yells across the road, his voice smooth and loud enough to echo off the pines.

  "Don't want to keep the congregation waiting."

  The silence that follows is deafening.

  Gabriel slowly turns his head, raising an eyebrow at me as he takes in my mud-streaked face and the expensive car idling in the middle of our woods.

  "You know this guy?" Gabriel asks, his voice tight.

  "W-what?" I stammer, my face burning underneath the cold mud.

  I frantically try to wipe my eyes, feeling the grit of the road against my skin.

  "N-no! Don't be ridiculous! I've never met him in my entire life!"

  Gabriel doesn't look convinced.

  He side-eyes Julian, his expression darkening with a flash of suspicion.

  "Well," he says quietly, "he sure seems to know you."

  BEEP-BEEP.

  The sudden, brassy blare of the horn makes me jump nearly out of my skin.

  The sound is loud and impatient, echoing sharply off the damp trunks of the pines and scattering a few birds from the upper branches.

  Julian doesn't move his hands from the wheel, but he leans slightly toward the open window, a persistent, easy grin fixed on his face.

  "Come on now, Daniel," Julian calls out.

  I can feel Gabriel’s gaze burning into the side of my face, his jaw tight as he watches my reaction.

  "Daniel?" Gabriel repeats.

  I open my mouth, but the words are stuck.

  The car’s engine hums expectantly, sending the scent of expensive petrol and warm metal drifting over us until the woods feel suddenly very far away.

  Then, the heavy click of the door latch breaks the silence, and Julian swings the door open to step out onto the dirt path.

  He just stands there with his hands on his hips, tilting his head back to take a slow, deep breath of the pine-scented air.

  I find myself watching the way his chest expands—broad and powerful underneath the sharp, tailored lines of his black suit—moving upward and downward with a slow, deliberate ease.

  As he exhales, a small cloud of white mist vanishes into the morning chill. He drops his hands and begins to walk across the road toward us.

  Julian walks over to us, his strides long and easy, while Gabriel and I stand awkwardly beside each other just off the road.

  Neither of us is smiling.

  I’m shivering in my muddy wool, and Gabriel looks like he’s ready to bolt or bite.

  "Good morning, boys!" Julian says as he reaches us.

  Silence.

  Neither of us says a word.

  Julian doesn't seem to mind; he just turns to Gabriel with a delightful, effortless smile.

  "Ah, you must be Gabriel!"

  Gabriel’s head snaps toward me, his brow furrowed in a dark glare.

  "You told him about me?" he whispers harshly.

  "What! No, I would never—" I whisper back, my face heating up beneath the grit.

  Before I can finish, Julian reaches out a gloved hand toward Gabriel.

  "I'm Daniel's stepfather," he says casually, his smile remaining perfectly friendly. "I have heard quite a bit about you."

  Gabriel doesn't take the hand.

  Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes darting between us.

  "You never mentioned any such stepfather," he mumbles to me.

  "That's because he isn't! At—at least not yet!" I hiss back, feeling like the world is collapsing around my ears.

  Julian clearly hears the frantic whispers being exchanged between us.

  His smirk turns knowing, his hand still extended in that patient, steady way.

  "Well," he says, his voice smooth as silk, "one might also say that I'm courting Daniel's mother."

  That's the breaking point.

  Gabriel’s eyes go wide, and he practically explodes with outrage.

  "Hold up! You planning to steal my lady?"

  Before I can explain that he means my mother in his strange, boyish way, Gabriel already drops into a low fighting crouch, pulling up his fists and fixing his eyes on Julian like he’s staring down a pirate captain.

  "Uha! Hold my saber, Bracie!” Gabriel barks.

  I instinctively reach out and take the wooden branch from his hand.

  Clutching the muddy stick and covered in slush, I watch as my best friend prepares to brawl with a grown man in a tailored suit.

  Julian, however, turns his gaze back to the towering pines, adjusting the cuff of his glove with a relaxed, effortless grace.

  "The air out here really is superior," Julian says casually, as if he’s just making small talk at a garden party.

  "I usually spend my mornings at the fencing club or the shooting range, but I think I prefer the smell of the timber. It reminds me of the expeditions I used to lead in the Tatras."

  The change in Gabriel is instantaneous.

  His fists drop.

  His shoulders slump out of the fighting stance, and his eyes light up with a frantic, star-struck hunger.

  A fencing, sharp-shooting mountain explorer?

  It’s like Julian just stepped out of one of Gabriel's adventure novels.

  "Ooooo," Gabriel breathes, his entire face transforming into a mask of pure awe.

  "You don’t say!"

  I just stand there, paralyzed.

  I give him the most confused, irritated glare I can muster, my eyes squinted in total disbelief, and my brow crooked so high it hurts.

  I look at the "saber" in my hand, then at Gabriel, who has completely forgotten he was defending my mother’s honor ten seconds ago.

  Julian finally tears his gaze away from the trees and settles it on me.

  His expression is smooth, his smile as effortless as the car idling behind him.

  "Well, we’d best get moving, Daniel," Julian says, his voice ringing with a cheerful, paternal authority.

  "It wouldn't do to be late for your first morning in a proper pew. The Vicar is quite particular about the opening procession."

  Beside me, Gabriel lets out a loud snort.

  He nudges my shoulder with his elbow, his grin turning sharp and a little mocking.

  "A proper pew, eh?" Gabriel says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  "Don't expect me to wait around for you, pup. I’ve got better things to do while you’re off bowing to some ghost in a stone house. Have fun being a saint."

  My face is hot enough to melt the remaining snow, so I duck my head, refusing to meet Gabriel’s teasing gaze.

  I feel like a captured soldier being marched off to the front lines.

  I reluctantly turn away from the woods, my boots squelching as I follow Julian back to the gleaming black motorcar.

  Julian slides into the driver’s seat with a practiced grace, his leather gloves squeaking against the wheel.

  I climb into the front passenger seat, pulling my knees to my chest and huddling against the door.

  I stare straight ahead at the dashboard, determined not to look out the window at Gabriel one last time.

  But out of the corner of my eye, I see it.

  As the car begins to roll, Julian leans toward the open window and tosses a jolly, lighthearted wave toward the trail.

  "Farewell, Gabriel! Until our next expedition!" Julian calls out, his tone so warm and friendly it makes my stomach do a slow, painful flip.

  As the engine roars to life and the tires begin to crunch over the gravel of the main road, the silence inside the cabin feels heavy.

  I let out a long, jagged groan, snapping my head toward Julian.

  "Why did you have to do that?" I burst out, my voice cracking with indignation.

  "Why did you have to go and embarrass me in front of my friend like that?!"

  Julian’s grip on the steering wheel doesn't falter, but I see his shoulders drop ever so slightly.

  He glances at me, and for a fleeting second, he actually looks hurt—his brow furrowing with a touch of genuine confusion.

  "Daniel," he says softly, his voice losing its theatrical edge.

  "That truly wasn't my intention. I only... well, I simply wished to meet the boy you spend so much of your time with. I thought we were getting along quite famously."

  He looks back to the road, his jaw set in a way that makes me feel suddenly, uncomfortably small.

  He glances over his shoulder to check the road, but his movement stops midway.

  His eyes widen as they land on me, really seeing me for the first time in the bright morning light.

  "Good heavens, Daniel!" Julian exclaims, his brow snapping upward.

  "Look at the state of you!"

  He lets out a short, surprised laugh, shaking his head as he takes in the mud.

  "I suppose I should have expected this. I remember my own mother nearly had a heart attack when I showed up to Easter Sunday looking like a hound had dug me up. You’ve clearly had a proper adventure with Gabriel, but we’re heading to a house of God, not a wrestling match in the trenches."

  I just stare at him.

  My mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

  I am in such complete, absolute disbelief that I can’t even find the breath to tell him that he was the one who sent a spray of mud flying over me.

  Realizing there’s no point in arguing with a man who is so blissfully unaware, I groan and bury my head into my tucked-up knees, shielding my eyes with my arms so I don't have to look at his "perfect" face anymore.

  "Well," he says from beside me, sounding far too pleased with himself, "I suppose it’s a stroke of luck that I’m a man of foresight. I took the liberty of tossing a fresh change of clothes in the trunk this morning.”

  He chuckles, the sound smooth and effortless.

  "We’ll pull around to the sacristy door. You can wash up in the basin and swap into the spare suit as soon as we step inside. I know the priest well enough; he won't mind us using the back room for a quick cleanup, hm?"

  I don't answer.

  I stay huddled in my seat, the silence in the car only broken by the low thrum of the engine.

  But as we pick up speed, the cold, sharp breeze from the partially open window begins to whistle past my ears.

  It carries the scent of damp pine and woodsmoke, and slowly, the bite of the air starts to pull the heat out of my face.

  I don't stop being angry, but the rhythmic hum of the tires on the road eventually lulls the sharpest edges of my frustration into a dull, heavy ache.

  We pull around to the back of the church, where the heavy oak of the sacristy door stands in the shadow of the stone buttresses.

  I don't wait for Julian to open my door; I scramble out, clutching the bundle of clean clothes, and slip inside.

  The sacristy smells of beeswax and cold stone.

  I change quickly, the fresh fabric feeling stiff against my skin compared to my damp forest clothes.

  I find the stone basin—the water is freezing—and scrub the mud from my cheeks until my skin stings.

  When I step back outside, the polished stone floor of the corridor stretches out ahead of me.

  Julian is standing a few yards away with his back to me.

  He’s facing the archway that leads into the main Nave, where the low, rhythmic murmur of a full congregation hums like a beehive.

  Against the grey masonry, Julian’s silhouette looks dark and serious.

  His hands are buried in his pockets, and he doesn't move.

  I walk toward him, my boots clicking on the stone.

  As I reach his side, I look past him into the crowd, searching for a familiar head of hair.

  When I realize she isn't there, my stomach gives a nervous little twitch.

  "Where’s Mother?" I ask, my voice sounding small in the high-ceilinged hall.

  Julian doesn't look at me immediately.

  He keeps his gaze fixed on the altar in the distance.

  "She'll be along shortly," he replies, his voice steady.

  "But why isn't she here now?" I press.

  "She said we’d all come together."

  Julian finally turns, offering a small, reassuring smile.

  "You know how she is, Daniel. She realized at the last moment that she’d forgotten to secure the kitchen shutters properly—the wind is picking up, after all. And," he adds with a light wave of his hand, "she wanted to find that specific lace headscarf she likes. She insisted I bring you ahead to find us a good spot. The neighbors should see the men of the house are already settled and at prayer while she finishes her preparations."

  He reaches out, briefly straightening the collar of my fresh jacket.

  "She'll be here before the first hymn, I promise. For now, we are here only to support the service, as we discussed. A guest’s duty, hm?"

  I nod slowly, though the explanation feels thin.

  I look back at the heavy doors of the Nave, feeling a sudden weight in my chest.

  Beside me, Julian’s face remains calm, but I notice how tightly his jaw is set.

  "You know, Daniel," he says conversationally, as if he’s just remembered an interesting fact.

  "I was thinking about the story of the Passover while we were driving. It’s a shame, really, how the original texts get muddled. In the true tradition, that 'passing over' wasn't just a stroke of luck for the faithful—it was the first sign that the old laws were fading to make way for the light of Christ. The Lamb wasn't just a sacrifice; it was a literal placeholder for the Savior who was already standing in the shadows, waiting to claim his own."

  I pull back slightly, my brow furrowing.

  "No... no, that’s—that’s not right," I stammer.

  "The Lamb was about the covenant. It was the mark on the door, so the Angel of Death would pass our house in Egypt. It wasn't a 'placeholder' for anyone. It was about us being saved as a people. That’s the whole point."

  Julian lets out a soft, patient sigh.

  "I understand that’s what you were taught, Daniel," he says, his voice as smooth as silk.

  "But look at the architecture of this building. Look at how high these ceilings go. Do you really think a God of such infinite power would care about something as small and messy as blood on a doorframe? It’s a bit primitive, don't you think? It’s far more logical to believe that the event was merely a rehearsal for the Church."

  I stare at him, my head spinning.

  What does the height of the ceiling have to do with the Exodus?

  It’s a completely irrelevant argument, but he says it with such absolute, calm certainty that I feel the ground shifting under my boots.

  I struggle to find the words to defend a story I’ve known since I could speak.

  "Okay, okay," I say, my voice sounding desperate and childish even to my own ears.

  "You have your beliefs, and I have mine. Just because you believe it to be true doesn't mean I have to."

  Julian finally looks down at me, his expression full of a terrifying kind of pity.

  "You're right, Daniel. You don't have to believe in my faith," he says gently.

  He leans in just a fraction.

  "But consider this: what if what you’re believing is a false philosophy? What if you're just holding onto a shadow because you’re afraid of the sun?"

  "What?" I whisper, completely bewildered.

  "It’s like science, really," Julian continues, his tone light and helpful.

  "If you walked outside right now and insisted the sky was red, you wouldn't be a bad person. The idea itself is innocent enough. But eventually, you have to realize that the sky is, in fact, blue. You can tell yourself the red version is a beautiful story, but you’re only deluding yourself. Truth isn't a matter of opinion, Daniel. It’s just... what is."

  I feel a cold knot tighten in my stomach.

  He’s talking about my life, my family, and everything I know as if it's a color-blindness I need to be cured of.

  "Just drop it," I snap, looking away from him and toward the floor.

  "Can we just stop talking about this? Please."

  Julian just pats my shoulder once, a rhythmic, patronizing thud.

  "Of course, Daniel. We’ll say no more about it. For now."

  The heavy thud of the outer door echoing through the hall makes us both turn.

  My mother walks toward us, her silhouette framed by the morning light.

  She is wearing her best blue Sunday dress, the fabric crisp and bright against the grey stone.

  Her hair is pinned back in perfect, elegant waves, and her lips are painted a bold, defiant red.

  She looks radiant—and completely unrecognizable.

  "There you are, boys!" she exclaims, her voice carrying a practiced, lighthearted lilt she only makes when she is happy to see us.

  Julian steps forward to meet her, a genuine spark of admiration in his eyes.

  He leans in and greets her with a kiss to the cheek.

  Mother then turns to me, wrapping a firm, warm arm around my shoulder, drawing me into her side.

  Julian completes the circle, placing one arm across her back and his other hand firmly on my shoulder.

  We stand there for a moment in the center of the hall, a solid block of blue wool, polished leather, and fresh soap.

  Mother takes a long, steadying breath.

  I feel the slight tremor in her frame settle as she snaps her lips together, her expression hardening into one of calm, stoic grace.

  "Let us all enter," she says softly, though her voice leaves no room for argument.

  "As a family."

  I look up at her, seeing the perfect "Christian" mother she has labored all morning to become.

  Then I look back at Julian, who meets my gaze with a steady, reassuring nod, his hand heavy and protective on my back.

  For once—just for this single, fleeting heartbeat—the suspicion in my gut falls silent.

  The lies, the mud, and the strange arguments about the sky fade into the background.

  It actually feels real.

  It feels as though we have always been this way, standing in the shadows of a cathedral, waiting to take our place among the neighbors.

  I don't pull away.

  As the organ music begins to swell from within the Nave, we begin to move forward together.

  I find my stride matching theirs, my boots clicking in rhythm with Julian’s as we walk through the entrance and into the light of the church.

  As a family.