69. Sacred Shadows

CHAPTER 69

Sacred Shadows

ILEANA

Three sleepless days have whittled me down to frayed nerves. Everything feels too loud, too bright. I need to find a place to hide, to rest, like Wren said, before the next mistake seals my fate.

Churches. Twenty-four-hour diners. Places where I can disappear, at least for a while.

But those places mean people. Questions. Kind strangers who mean well, offer smiles, and think they’re helping. I can’t afford good intentions, not when Wren’s warning about getting careless rings louder each time my eyelids droop. I’ve already been careless. Using the payphone too close to the library, staying too long in one spot, dragging my feet when I should be moving.

My eyes catch on a church spire to my left, piercing the late afternoon sky. Sanctuary or a fatal mistake—I can't tell, but I have no other choice.

I’m so tired.

My feet take me forward before I’ve decided, instincts overriding thought. Each step makes my heart beat faster. The church looms ahead, arches pointed, stone walls weathered by time and storms. A sign near the steps mentions what time each service will be.

I ignore the front doors, skimming close to the walls, and try the side entrances. The third one gives, opening with the faintest push into cool stillness. The scent of melted wax and old wood wraps around me as I step inside.

Stained glass scatters reds and blues across worn pews. The air holds a silence so thick it’s almost tangible, and something inside me loosens for the first time in days. My lungs fill, my breath not snagging like it usually does.

The back pew draws me in, hidden but close to the exits. My legs give out as I sink onto the hard wood, my body too heavy to stay upright anymore. It doesn’t matter that the bench digs into my spine, that the air is cold and still. It’s safer here than out there.

My head tilts back, too heavy to hold up, and I close my eyes. Wren waits for me in the dark, his face rising behind my eyelids, clear and vivid. The low hum of his voice curls through me like smoke, filling up all the empty spaces inside me.

You find shelter. I’ll find you.

The words replay on a loop in my head, a lullaby as the darkness pulls me under.

I don’t know how long I’m out before the creak of a door snaps me awake. I sit bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. My head spins as I take in my surroundings, panic slithering under my skin.

How long was I asleep?

“Can I help you?” The voice startles me, and my gaze jerks up to find a priest standing at the end of the pew. He’s older, his expression gentle but watchful. No suspicion, just a calm that feels out of place after the last few days.

“I was just …”

"The chapel is always open to those seeking rest. You have no need to explain.”

Every instinct tells me to run. To get up and leave before he remembers my face, before he asks questions I can’t answer. But Wren’s voice is there again, steady and insistent.

You need sleep before you make mistakes .

I swallow, forcing myself to stay still. "Thank you." My voice comes out rough.

"There's coffee in the parish hall, if you'd like some. And washrooms through that door." He gestures without moving closer, giving me space. "I’m Father Michael, if you need anything. "

The mention of coffee makes my mouth water, and the thought of a real bathroom. They’re temptations far too strong. Warmth. Quiet. A moment to breathe.

Rest , Wren’s voice insists. Think .

“Thank you,” I say again, rising stiffly from the pew. My legs feel like lead, my body aching as I push forward. “Which way?”

He points toward a side door, then moves away. No pressure, no questions, no suspicious looks at my obvious homeless state. Just simple kindness offered freely.

The parish hall greets me with soft light and the rich scent of coffee. I move toward it like a magnet, steam rising from the coffee pot in lazy spirals. My hands shake slightly as I pour a mug, the heat seeping into my fingers. The first sip is too hot, burning all the way down, but I don’t care. It wakes me up, clears a corner of the fog clouding my thoughts.

The washroom is clean, the water shockingly cold as I splash it over my face. I scrub at the grime that feels etched into my skin, watching it swirl down the drain. When I look at the mirror, the girl staring back looks thin and pale. Dark circles bruise the skin under my eyes, but I’m breathing a little easier now.

Back in the chapel, I return to the same pew, sinking into it with my coffee cradled in both hands. My body unwinds a fraction, muscles softening as I sip slowly. For the first time in days, the world outside fades to nothing. No running. No hiding. Just this stolen moment of quiet.

Wren will find me.

My head tips back again, the pew creaking faintly beneath me. The weight of exhaustion drags at me, but I don’t fight it this time. I let myself imagine him, his voice wrapping around me like armor.

He’s coming. I know he is.

I don’t know what comes after that, and I don’t care. For now, it’s enough to wait.