I leave the corridor and move through the church quietly.
We haven’t opened the church to outreach yet. Everything is set up and orderly, as if the place is paused in readiness. Chairs are stacked. Tables are arranged. The space is empty, but it doesn’t feel abandoned—it feels expectant.
Waiting.
The same way I am, standing here with too many unanswered questions and the sense that the pieces are close, just not aligned yet.
Bethany is still inside, filing paperwork into a cabinet. She looks up when she hears me approach.
“Is she okay?” I ask.
“She was exhausted,” Bethany tells me. “I told her to lie down for a while.”
She pauses, then studies my face more closely. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I haven’t.”
She closes the cabinet and steps closer. “What’s on your mind?”
“Rowan,” I say. “And the things she isn’t telling me.”
Something in Bethany’s expression tightens. Concern.
“Everyone has secrets,” she reminds me.
“Not like this,” I reply. “I can’t make the pieces fit.”
Bethany leans back against a table, folding her arms. “What do you think she’s hiding?”
I don’t answer. The moment I do, it stops being a theory and becomes something else. Something I’ll have to reckon with.
Not because I doubt Rowan’s capacity for extremes. Because I don’t. I think she’s capable of them without hesitation—and I don’t know what that means for either of us.
Bethany shifts, reading the silence. “I don’t have all the facts,” she says carefully. “Rowan didn’t open up to me much. But when we talked about VOC and outreach…” She trails off, then shakes her head. “Her eyes lit up. Like she was seeing something she’d needed once and never had.”
I stay quiet.
“She wasn’t excited because it was interesting,” Bethany continues. “She was excited because it mattered. Because it was personal. Whatever she’s been carrying, it’s heavy. Don’t be too quick to judge her, Justin. Some people survive things that would destroy others.”
She meets my gaze. “And whatever Rowan means to you—remember this. Be grateful she made it as far as she did.”
Rowan looksup when I enter the room.
Her eyes lock on mine.
There’s something in her expression that tells me she knows and she’s just waiting for me to ask the question.
I don’t ask it.
I cross the room and sit in the chair, the same one I sat in earlier, keeping distance I don’t want to keep.
Rowan shifts slightly under the blanket. “You’re thinking too loud.”
“I’m thinking,” I correct.
She watches me. “You went to see that man.” It’s more a statement than a question.
I don’t respond.
