The kids were safe.
Yet Luke felt anything but steady.
Amayah stood beside him, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the glowing stained-glass window above them. The church looked almost holy in the emergency lights—like a place built for beginnings and confessions.
Silence settled between them. A real, fragile silence. The kind made of things too big to say.
Luke cleared his throat, unsure where to begin. “I . . . guess we should talk.”
She let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “Probably.”
He hesitated—then took the least brave path possible.
“Darren.” He grimaced inwardly the moment the name left his mouth. “Are you really going to talk to him? After everything he told you?”
Her gaze stayed on the church window, its colors flickering with distant ambulance lights.
“Yes.” Her voice was soft but sure. “I am. For a long time, I . . . blamed myself for everything that happened with Isaac. I thought it was my fault for not seeing it, not stopping it.” A hollow breath escaped her. “But hearing Darren tonight—hearing my own advice to him—I realized I needed that reminder too.”
Luke watched her, a knot tightening in his throat.
He had never met someone who carried grace like she did—lightly, but fiercely.
He glanced at the church. “So you’re really trying to buy this place, huh?”
She glanced up at the steeple and nodded. “I’ve been trying to keep it quiet until everything was final. There’s so much that still has to happen—repairs, inspections, approvals. But it’s been on my heart for months.”
For a moment, awe flickered through him—and then guilt chased it down.
He had his own confessions to share.
He raked a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you the whole truth up front, Amayah. When I first took the assignment from my editor, I . . . I didn’t know who you were. I figured you were like Celeste. Then I met you and . . . I realized I was totally wrong.”
She turned to him. “Why me? Why did you decide to make me the focus of this article?”
“Because of what happened to Hannah.”
“Who’s Hannah?”
“Hannah Roberts.”
Amayah’s expression shifted to recognition then sadness. “Is she the reporter who died last year?”
Luke nodded. “We were friends. She tried to follow in the footsteps of this woman named Celeste, who was an influencer. And, as a result, Hannah lost her life.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I should’ve tried to help Hannah, to pull her out. But I didn’t. And now . . . I can’t. It’s too late.” His voice roughened. “So when my editor asked me to write an article that would expose the hidden life of a popular influencer . . . I agreed. I thought . . . maybe shining light into the dark would make up for what I didn’t do for her.”
“When you realized I wasn’t a fake, you could have told me the truth.”
“I wanted to. I even tried to a couple of times. But things kept coming up and interrupting us.” He ran a hand through his hair. “By then, I was in too deep.”
“So what now?”
“My editor gave me an ultimatum—do the article or quit. So I quit.”
Her eyes widened. “You really quit?”
