The dim glow of the hotel lamp flickered against the walls, casting long shadows in the small room. You sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the edge of the thin blanket as you stared at the floor, the weight of the investigation pressing down on your shoulders. Detective Lois Tryon had enlisted your help, but it felt strange to be in the middle of it all. As a nun and journalist, your life had always been rooted in truth, in exposing the darkness with light, but nothing had prepared you for the complexities of this case—or for the strange twists your life had taken.

The bathroom door creaked open, and your breath caught in your throat. Father Charlie Mayhew stepped out, steam billowing softly from the hot shower behind him. His dark hair was wet, slicked back, and beads of water still clung to his bare chest, which was only loosely covered by a towel slung low around his hips. You blinked, your pulse quickening as the air between you thickened with tension.

You shouldn’t be here.

This wasn’t right.

He was a priest, and you—well, you were many things, but in this moment, you felt like you didn’t belong, like this wasn’t what either of you should be doing. But here you were, sharing a room because the investigation demanded it, because tomorrow you would chase another lead into the dark corners of this mystery.

He looked at you, standing there frozen, your mind racing. You tried to look away, but your gaze lingered on him, taking in more than you should have. His presence was overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. This was a man who usually carried himself with the quiet authority of a priest, but here, stripped of that collar and his robes, he was just a man—impossibly human, impossibly near.

For a moment, he said nothing, just watching you with those same deep eyes that had unnerved you from the moment you met him. Then he spoke, his voice low.

“Do you feel out of place?” he asked, the question hanging in the air between you like an invitation.