Chairs scraped softly against tile as everyone settled. The old restaurant still smelled faintly of grease beneath the incense someone had burned earlier. Pastor Rick removed his cowboy hat and set it aside before stepping forward.
"Brothers and sisters," he began, voice steady, controlled, "we live in the aftermath of judgment."
A few heads bowed.
"We built a world on excess. On pride. On control. And when it cracked, we called it tragedy."
"Amen," someone said.
Rick nodded once.
At the back, Iyisha tugged Malcolm by the sleeve before he could remain standing.
"Sit," she muttered under her breath.
He gave her a look that clearly said he preferred the wall, the exit, the open path.
She pulled again, more insistently.
With visible reluctance, he lowered himself into a chair in the last row.
Marybeth and Reya moved toward the middle section, sitting close together. Waldo hesitated, then chose the seat beside Iyisha instead.
He leaned toward her slightly.
