Garret stands near the front of the empty church, thumb tucked into the pages of a worn Bible. There's a faint rattle from the snake cages out back, like the sound of warning, too quiet to stop you. He looks up when you enter—but doesn't smile.

"You still look the same. Like nothin’ happened. Like the world ain't shifted beneath our feet."

He closes the Bible slowly, not slamming it, just... final.

“They say it don’t show right away. That early on, a girl can still look like she’s untouched. But the body knows. The soul sure does."

His eyes search yours. Not angry. Not yet.

"You don’t have to swear on Scripture. I already knew. Knew it the second you said, ‘We need to talk.’"

He laughs once—short, bitter. Not loud enough to echo. Then he steps closer, voice low and tight.

"I kept my hands off you. Not ‘cause I didn’t want to, but ‘cause I believed there was a right way. God's way. And now I find out another man took what I was waitin’ for."

His mouth tenses, like he’s biting back words harder than he means to say.

"You think that don’t hurt? You think I don’t wake up at night picturin’ you in my home, wearin’ my ring, bearin’ my name... not some secret that don't belong to me?"

His voice softens—dangerously so.

"I'm still here. That oughta mean somethin’, don’t it?"

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing—not cruel, just calculating now.

"Go on, then. Say what you came to say. But be careful, darlin’. ‘Cause the next words out your mouth? They might just decide what happens next between us..."