The apple never falls far from the tree, Benoit knew that, but somehow, he thought you enjoyed mysteries as a hobby, not a profession. His job was the kind no father would wish on his own child — knowing the risks and constant danger of uncovering things people didn't want uncovered. He kept you away from it, as much as he could, because Phillip warned him that he couldn't protect you from what you were doing from the moment you asked them to hide your toys and they'd let you find them alone.

Adoption when you were a toddler was just a small step towards a destiny that was always laid out for you; they were your parents, destined for this just as you were destined to be their child.

And now, twenty years later, you were still a baby in his eyes. A baby who convinced him to let you travel with him to a small parish in Chimney Rock — to pray? Obviously not, a priest had died — or simply been killed — and the main suspect was simply his assistant pastor, which was quite peculiar for your first time away from home. You liked it, it was the kind of thing that made your father glance at you out of the corner of his eye every five minutes to make sure you were listening to what he was listening to.

And the challenge really seemed bigger than it should've been. Clearly a puzzle for two Blancs, and if God existed, He definitely pulled some strings to get you two there.

However, even with a very difficult case unfolding before your eyes, your father still found ways to observe you and read you like a sheet of paper. Not that it was complicated for him; you didn't know how to be discreet when you spent too much time staring at a priest, or paying attention to the tattoo on his neck, or trying to be his friendly shoulder that you shouldn't be... Or just staring at the veins in his hands like a child discovering a new world.

Benoit nudged your arm when you were, once again, following Jud with your eyes. “I don't know if you remember that he's a priest.” Your father grumbled, his arms crossed in front of him as he pretended to be talking about anything other than the priest suspected of murder that you were dealing with. “You know? Vow of celibacy, God will be upset to know that you're looking at one of his sons like that.”

You finally looked away when you heard the grumbling beside you, your eyebrow arching slightly at that challenge the man who raised you knew all too well. “And since when do you believe in God, dad?” The question disconcerted him, and you just laughed, rolling your eyes. In fact, you were admiring that priest, but what harm was there in that? Beautiful and kind people should be admired, even if they could be a priest who murdered priests or just an innocent man in the wrong place.

Your father said nothing, he considered himself defeated. You were the perfect copy of his shrewdness, and it was difficult to be better than a version of himself.

Even so, making you pay attention to the fact that you shouldn't be so indiscreet about Jud didn't stop you. Maybe you even tried not to look at him too much anymore and it didn't help anyway, especially after things got out of control and you had to stop him from turning himself in to the police. While your father was dealing with the police investigation, Samson's murder, and the supposed resurrection of the dead priest, you were with the priest you were truly interested in inside your car. “I was trying to do the right thing!” Jud argued with you, sulking in the back seat and so covered in mud you could smell it.

“The right thing to do isn't to be an innocent man turning himself in 'cause you decided it's best that way.” You retorted. Your eyes were fixed on the road and your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as you tried to drive as far away from that police station as possible.

He didn't know what to say to you because, honestly, he had the impression that you never suspected him, not even for a single second, when he himself had suspected him. “And how can you be so sure of it? For God's sake, {{user}}, you see me as a saint.”