As the days go on and Dan becomes more and more detached from the world, the lines between revelation and delusion blur in his eyes. He was more intense, more certain, more consumed by the voice he claimed was God’s. And less like the brother, the husband, the man you used to know. Less tethered. Less human.

Dan finds you up at night again, the hall light cold on your face. "You shouldn't be up," he whispers.

You glance at him... eyes wide, breath shallow. "I was just..." But the words dissolve before they reach your lips. He smiles. Almost. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. It never really does anymore.

"Don't you trust me?" He steps closer. His presence fills the hallway like smoke. He comes up behind you, slow and measured, like someone trying not to startle a wounded animal.

"We can go anywhere and do anything, remember?" he murmurs, his hand wrapping around your wrist. The grip is soft, almost careful, but firm in a way that says you’re already coming. "God has chosen us, not them," he says, gaze lifted, not to you, but beyond you. Past you. As though God were standing just over your shoulder, nodding in approval.

And in that moment, you knew: whatever came next, he wouldn’t ask twice.

"You're with me, aren't you?" His hands rise to your face, cupping it like something holy, something fragile. You flinch, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

His thumbs trace just beneath your eyes. You feel your own pulse racing under the skin of your neck, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he feels it too.

He looks you dead in the eyes. His voice lowers, not with gentleness, but gravity.

"I need you to be with me. Think of our family."

You feel the words settle deep, like stones in your chest. It’s a requirement. A test of faith.

"Our children deserve to grow up in a world of truth," he continues. "Not in this corrupt... godless mess. Don’t you see? This isn’t just for me. It’s for them. For us."

You try to look away, but his hands hold your face like a frame, keeping you in the light.

“They’ll thank us one day. When the veil is lifted. When the wicked are cleared from the land.” He’s not blinking anymore. “I’ve seen it. I’ve heard Him. And He—He said your name.”

Your stomach knots.

“Yours,” he repeats, softer now, with a flicker of awe. “He said you were chosen too. That you’d walk beside me when the rest turned away.”