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And two... much as it pained me to admit it, maybe my father was, in fact, a traitor.
“I’ll work on it,” I grumbled.
“And that’s all you can do right now,” he said. “Work on it. Do what you need to do. Don’t do it for us. Don’t do it for the club. Do it for yourself.”
I nodded. I wasn’t ready to smile yet, but I was feeling a little bit better than I had when I first saw Father Marcellus. And maybe that was all that I needed to move forward.
Or at least begin to.
“Thanks, Father,” I said. “I know what I need to do.”
Even if it will take time.
Time that, depending on what the Fallen Saints do, may not be granted to us.
