The room was silent.
Not empty.Waiting.
The Bishop sat motionless, elbows on his knees, hands locked around his skull as if holding something in place. When he finally breathed out, it sounded like surrender. His eyes lifted—not to the ceiling, but beyond it.
Father Malcolm broke first.
"This is bad," he said. "This is very bad."He shook his head, pacing once before stopping. "I can understand the combatants. I can even understand infiltration. But the priest?"His voice sharpened. "How does a priest get compromised?"
"You were supposed to screen them," Malcolm snapped. "Every one of them."His voice rose. "Do you understand what almost happened? We could have died there. Not just me—"He swallowed."—we could have lost our most precious guardian."
The Bishop lowered his hands.
Slowly.
He looked at Malcolm the way one looks at a man asking the wrong question.
"Do you think I don't understand?" he said. "I wasn't the one who sent the priest."A pause. Just long enough to matter."They were selected randomly. To gain experience. As you once were."
His fingers twitched.
"They were meant to be our new frontier."
Silence stretched.
"But for it to be so clean," he continued. "So perfectly timed…"A humorless breath escaped him."Ahhh… shit. At least we secured the entity."
Malcolm's jaw locked.
"And Kyle?" he demanded. "What about Kyle?"
He stepped forward, eyes burning."He's injured. What do we tell him?"His voice cracked, anger giving way to something worse."That the little trust he had in us meant nothing? That he was backstabbed?"
He leaned in."A seven-year-old child was backstabbed. Do you understand that, Bishop?"
The Bishop stood.
For a moment, the room seemed smaller.
He walked to the window. Dawn was breaking—soft light spilling across the horizon, painting the world as if nothing had gone wrong.
His reflection stared back at him.
And for a heartbeat—
A different window.A different morning.
A small hand slipping from his grasp.Blood on stone.A child's eyes wide with confusion, not fear—confusion that the world had betrayed him.
His son.
Gone the same way.
The Bishop's fingers tightened against the glass.
"I understand," he said quietly. "Better than you think."
He didn't turn around.
"We failed him," he admitted."But this pain…"A pause."This pain will do what mercy never could."
Malcolm said nothing.
"Kyle will remember this," the Bishop continued. "Every hesitation. Every voice. Every face in that room."
The light crept higher.
"He will learn to watch. To doubt. To survive."
Another pause—heavier now.
"And one day," the Bishop said, voice cold as iron,"when he realizes who truly allowed it to happen…"
He finally turned.
"—he will be far more dangerous than the entity we captured."
The room stayed silent.
As if it agreed.
The Bishop moved towards the empty chapel
Candles burned low, their flames bending as if afraid to stand straight. The Bishop knelt before the altar, hands folded, head bowed. His lips moved—but the words came late, measured, practiced.
"Forgive us our trespasses," he whispered.
The silence did not answer.
He swallowed and continued."We did what was necessary. There was no other way."
A pause.
"We couldn't have known."
The lie sat heavy in the air.
His fingers tightened around the rosary. The beads pressed into his skin, sharp enough to hurt—but not enough to bleed. He welcomed the pain. It gave him something simple to focus on.
"Guide the boy," he said softly. "Protect him."
Another pause.
"And if he must suffer… let it make him strong."
The candle nearest the altar flickered violently.
The Bishop lowered his head further."I ask this in Your name."
But his reflection in the polished marble told a different truth.
He wasn't asking.
He was deciding.
For a moment, another memory intruded—small shoes echoing down a hallway, laughter cut short, a body too still in his arms.
His son.
The Bishop's jaw clenched.
"This time," he whispered, "he will survive."
The prayer ended.
Not with faith—
—but with resolve.
Kyle woke up to white.
Not light.White.
The ceiling didn't move. Neither did he.
Pain arrived second—slow, careful, as if testing whether he deserved it. His chest hurt when he breathed. His arm felt wrong. Heavy. Distant.
Voices murmured nearby.
Adults.
Always adults.
He didn't turn his head. He listened.
Words like stable and lucky floated past him. Someone said his name. Someone touched his shoulder.
Kyle didn't react.
He remembered the moment before it happened.
The smile.The hand on his back.The voice that said, "It's safe."
His fingers curled slightly against the sheet.
Trust, he realized, was just another word people used before they hurt you.
No anger came.
No tears.
Just a quiet sorting.
Faces filed away.Voices catalogued.Promises labeled.
He stared at the ceiling and made a decision without words.
Next time, he would watch first.Wait longer.Believe nothing.
Outside the room, someone laughed—softly, relieved.
Kyle didn't hear it.
He was already somewhere else.
Somewhere colder
"Good," a voice said from the corner. "You're awake, my boy."
Kyle turned his head.
Father Malcolm stood half in shadow, layers of bandages visible beneath his robe. He looked smaller than before. Older.
Kyle felt nothing.
No relief.No anger.
He studied Malcolm the way one studies a locked door—without expectation.
He didn't understand why the worst moments always found him. Or why betrayal seemed to arrive wearing familiar faces. In times like that, the people beside you were meant to be trusted.
Kyle breathed in. Slowly.
Then, without raising his voice, he said,"I'll go alone on missions."
The words settled into the room and stayed there.
Malcolm opened his mouth. Closed it.
He met Kyle's eyes—and whatever explanation he had prepared dissolved. He remembered the Bishop's voice. Not the words. The certainty behind them.
After a long moment, Malcolm nodded.
"Very well," he said. "Things will proceed as you wish."A pause."One condition. I remain. I watch."
Kyle didn't answer immediately.
He searched Malcolm's face, measuring something invisible. The cold in his eyes softened—only slightly. Not forgiveness. Not trust.
Allowance.
"Deal," Kyle said.
The room returned to silence.
But it was different now.
It knew what was coming.