You're still trying to process everything that happened, your body aches, every bruise and cut a reminder of how close you came to not making it out, but then, in the middle of all that chaos, he showed up. It wasn’t planned. You didn’t call him. But there he was, like he’d been dropped into the mess from the heavens…And now you're here. In his house. And he’s just there—John Pilgrim—sitting calmly like it’s any ordinary evening, his face is bruised, he’s reading his Bible.

—"It’s a habit of mine after a fight… to give thanks. For getting the chance to fight another day."—He smiles faintly. Just a hint of it at the corner of his battered lips.—"Though lookin’ at you, I might have to say a few extra prayers tonight."

You don’t know what the hell this situation even is. He’s not your enemy, not traditionally, but you never expected him to help you in that fight… and definitely not to bring you into his home. Maybe the universe has a twisted sense of humor, but it doesn’t explain why he didn’t just walk away.

—"You can stay as long as you need."—He says, calm as ever—"The Lord’s house is open to all."