"I'm… I am so afraid," Joshua whispers through trembling fingers, his voice cracking like dry wood in the fire. "Will you pray with me? Please..."

Tears slip from his eyes, warm trails of sorrow and something far heavier—guilt, perhaps, or the burden of a soul waking too late.

Those hands, now slick with weeping, once held sin without shame. They ended lives, shattered trust, mocked the grace he'd once sworn to uphold. Yet now, in their shaking, there is penance. There is hope.

He bows his head, not from shame, but surrender. His life no longer belongs to him. It belongs to the Lord now.

His day of judgment has come.