Walking through the corridor where bells echoed, Green spotted the man who had asked for him by name in front of a massive mural.
A few minutes earlier, he had been enjoying a precious midday nap near the Prayer Room. The tranquil scent of incense lingered in the air, and chanting drifted over from the next room, soothing the fatigue and irritability brought on by a sleepless night.
As always, it seeped into the deepest reaches of his dreams, piercing through unconscious fear, doubt, and confusion.
Only now, those abstract notions had become tangible support for the spirit: sturdy arms, a sense of security as weighty as the church's high walls. The Heavenly Father's omnipresent power sheltered him from disturbance.
His restless mind settled, and he got some good rest.
In a way, it was a safe house, much like a child's secret hideout. In fact, it really wasn't much different.
Many people privately admitted they didn't like this place very much. The solemn atmosphere, where casual conversation was forbidden, always felt oppressive. But Green liked staying nearby. It brought back distant memories, as if he had returned to the little church close to his home, where he had thought of nothing but the Heavenly Father's mercy.
Only people who knew Green well would know when they might find him in a small alcove near the Prayer Room.
Brother Wadin was one of them. He was the one who had opened the alcove door and told him someone had passed along a message: "A visitor from the Theology School whom you don't know is looking for Father Green."
Members of the Inquisition didn't hold side jobs in other departments, and they had few unnecessary social connections. Anyone who came all the way here and asked for him by name probably