The priest smiled faintly.
"You're welcome. I'll leave once I've finished tidying these up."
He meant the crooked row of books beside the Altar. Two of them had already slipped past the edge of the shelf, as though they had been taken out and read many times without being returned properly. He pulled them out, stacked them again, sorted them by size, and put them back on the shelf. Then he adjusted the candle holder on the table, which had not been set securely, until it was aligned with the center.
After finishing, he walked to the side door, picked up a coat hanging on a hook, and draped it over his shoulders.
"I'm heading out."
"You're going out this late?"
"One of the parishioners left a message earlier saying they weren't feeling well. I'm going to check on them." He turned sideways and pulled the door nearly shut. The night wind poured in through the gap, briefly stirring the air and leaving the fleeting sound of his footsteps behind him before they gradually receded toward the street and were swallowed by the night.
Before the door closed, Ian saw his silhouette pause briefly beneath the streetlight, as if confirming his direction, before turning around the corner. The night wind seeped through the crack in the door, spread through the church aisle, and then settled back into silence. The dark wooden door had closed.
No new light shone through the gap.
Ian withdrew his gaze, lowered his head, picked up the plate of bread, broke off a small piece, dipped it in a little butter, and put it into his mouth. The bread was not especially soft, but it filled his stomach. He ate slowly, taking an occasional sip of water. Outside, it had become completely dark. Only a small