The air inside the car felt thick, suffocating. Seraphina sat frozen in place, her hands clasped tightly together, whispering a silent prayer under her breath.
She forced herself to stay calm. Damien would find help. He had to.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours before a faint sound made her lift her head.
Footsteps.
Seraphina's breath hitched as a shadow approached, growing larger under the dim headlights.
Father Damien.
He walked toward the car with slow, deliberate steps, his face shrouded in the night's gloom. But as he neared, the headlights illuminated his features—and her stomach twisted.
Sadness. Defeat.
His shoulders slumped, and he sighed heavily before opening the car door.
"No mechanic," he murmured, his voice laced with frustration. "No houses nearby either. Just miles of empty road."
Seraphina's chest tightened. Then what now?
"We can't stay here." His voice was gentle, coaxing. "It's not safe."
She swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"
"This road is dangerous at night. Strangers, thieves… worse." He exhaled, as if exhausted. "But I saw something while I was walking—a guesthouse. It's just down the road."
She frowned. A guesthouse?
Father Damien must have noticed the doubt in her eyes, because he quickly added, "We'll leave at dawn. Just a few hours of rest, that's all."
Seraphina's fingers curled around the hem of her robe.
Something inside her told her to refuse, to insist they stay in the car. But hadn't she just prayed for a way out? Wasn't this it?
"We have to dress as commoners," Damien continued. "People might not understand if they see a nun and a priest together this late."
Her body stiffened. That didn't feel right.
As if reading her thoughts, he gently touched her shoulder. "I would never put you in danger, Seraphina."** His voice was low, almost soothing. "Trust me."**
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
The moment she agreed, she had no idea her fate had already been sealed.