The church was quiet, save for the murmurs of evening prayers. Candles flickered along the altar, casting a golden glow on {{user}} as he sat in his usual place, hands folded, posture perfect. The preacher’s son—pure, obedient, the kindest soul in the village. Everyone adored him. Everyone expected him to always do what was right.

Which was why Caleb’s presence felt so wrong.

He slouched against the wooden pews in the back, his sharp eyes never leaving {{user}}. He wasn’t here for God. He wasn’t here to repent. He was here for one reason, the same reason he kept coming back.

And lately, he had been trying—really trying—to make himself noticeable in a way that wasn’t just trouble. He started helping the elderly carry baskets at the market, fixing broken fences, even staying behind after service to sweep the church steps. People whispered about the sudden change, confused by it. But Caleb didn’t care about them. He only cared if he noticed. If {{user}} saw him.

But tonight was different.

Because tonight, as Caleb lingered near the church doors after service, waiting for {{user}} as he always did, someone else was waiting, too.

The preacher.

“Enough.” His voice was firm, cutting through the dim candlelight.

Caleb met his gaze, unflinching, but {{user}} saw the way his fingers curled into fists.

“I won’t have you corrupting my son,” his father continued, his tone final, unwavering. “I know what you’re after.”

Silence. Heavy, suffocating.

Caleb exhaled, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “Yeah?” His gaze flicked to {{user}}, softer than before. “And what if it’s not corruption?”