CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 10

DORIAN

The boardroom was too bright. White walls, polished oak table, sunlight slanting through blinds. I preferred shadows, but this was where we were.

Genevieve Clarke sat at the head of the table, posture perfect, voice crisp. She looked like a queen who happened to wear pearls instead of a crown. Ezra sat to her right, shoulders tight, hands folded on the table like he was in class. His curls caught the light. He didn’t look up much.

Nico sat opposite me. His smile was too sharp, his collar too neat. He leaned forward like every word he spoke was revelation.

“Father Barnes said we must seize this opportunity,” Nico said. His voice was smooth, deliberate. “The youth retreat is our chance to ignite a fire. Three days in the mountains. Away from distraction. Full immersion in God’s presence.”

He spread his hands like he expected applause.

Genevieve only inclined her head. “We all agree it’s important. But the details matter. Logistics. Structure. Supervision.”

Nico smiled again. “Naturally. But passion, Mrs. Clarke, must come before structure. Discipline comes later.”

I spoke for the first time. “Without discipline, passion dies quickly.”

The table went quiet. Nico’s smile twitched.

Genevieve’s eyes flicked between us. “We need both. That is why Father Vale is here. And why you are here, Father Nico. Different strengths.”

Ezra glanced up then, eyes flicking to me before dropping to his folded hands again.

Nico leaned closer, elbows on the table. “We need worship sessions at dawn. Break them. Strip them down to their raw spirit. Let them feel hunger and fill it with prayer.”

Ezra shifted uncomfortably.

Genevieve raised her brows. “You mean fasting? For three days?”

“Yes,” Nico said firmly. “The young must learn sacrifice. That is the only way to purge weakness.”

“No,” I said.

His eyes snapped to mine. “Excuse me?”

I leaned back, voice even. “Starving them is not the way. They are not monks. They are children. Discipline is not punishment. It’s direction.”

Genevieve smiled slightly, approving. “Agreed.”

Nico’s jaw flexed, but he forced a chuckle. “Perhaps we’ll compromise. Half-day fasting, then? Just to sharpen the spirit.”

Ezra spoke then, softly. “Some of them have health conditions. Fasting might… hurt them.”

Genevieve laid a hand on his arm, gentle but firm. “Well said, Ezra.”

I watched the boy’s face flush. He looked down again.

Nico smirked like it was nothing. “Fine. Meals will stay. But worship must be intense. Hours, not minutes. They must be tested.”

“Structure first,” I said. “Wake up. Prayer. Meals. Small group sessions. Evening service. That order. That rhythm. The fire will come in the order.”

Genevieve nodded. “Yes. And I will oversee the small groups. Ezra can lead the choir practices.”

Ezra startled. “Oh—me?”

She looked at him with her usual polished certainty. “Of course. You have the voice. The youth respond to you.”

He swallowed hard. “I’ll try.”

“You’ll succeed,” she corrected, tone final.

Nico’s smile returned. “Then I will lead the morning worship. No one can bring fire like I can.”

I said nothing. I watched him, then glanced at Genevieve. She was unbothered, sipping her tea like she’d already planned his boundaries.

She leaned forward. “Father Vale, you will oversee confession hours. Morning and evening.”

I inclined my head. “Understood.”

Ezra’s gaze flicked to me again at that word. Understood. His lips pressed tight like he was holding back a thought.

Genevieve tapped her pen against the notepad. “Good. Meals will be simple but filling. The church board will handle transport. We leave Friday morning. Three days. No exceptions.”

Nico opened his mouth again. “And at night—vigils. We must wake them at midnight to pray. To fight the flesh.”

“No,” Genevieve said flatly. “We will not deprive the youth of sleep. They will be alert, not broken.”

The silence after that was sharp.

Nico forced another smile. “Of course. If that is your wish.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “It is the board’s decision. Not just mine.”

His jaw worked. “Naturally.”

Ezra finally spoke, voice soft but firm. “I think… if they feel safe, they’ll open up more. That’s when they’ll… listen.”

Genevieve beamed at him. “Well put.”

My eyes lingered on him. He spoke timidly, but there was truth in it.

Nico glanced at him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Wise words, Ezra. You’re young, but perhaps you understand more than I expected.”

Ezra flushed again. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” I cut in, voice low. “Safety first.”

Ezra’s eyes darted to mine. For a second, the air shifted. Then he looked away.

Genevieve clapped her hands lightly. “Then it is settled. Three days. Prayer, worship, small groups, meals, confession. Structure and spirit, together.”

Nico leaned back, clearly irritated but hiding it behind his smile. “Yes. Settled.”

I didn’t smile. I never did.

But in the silence that followed, my gaze went again to Ezra. His fingers tapped nervously against the table, like he was trying to quiet thoughts he couldn’t say aloud.

And I wondered if those thoughts were the same ones I was fighting too.

********

The office smelled of incense and dust. Old wood. Books stacked along the wall, some older than me.

Father Barnes sat at the desk, round glasses perched low on his nose. Beside him, Father Samuel leaned back in a chair, his cane propped by his knee. Both of them looked up when I entered.

“Ah, Father Vale,” Barnes said warmly. “You’ve spoken with Mrs. Clarke?”

“Yes,” I said, closing the door. “We finalized the retreat plans. Three days. Morning prayer, meals, small groups, evening worship. Structured. Balanced.”

Barnes nodded, pleased. Samuel grunted.

“Good,” Barnes said. “Very good. You will do well.”

I hesitated. “We?”

Barnes and Samuel exchanged a look. It was brief, but enough.

Barnes sighed. “We should tell him.”

Samuel leaned forward, resting both hands on his cane. “We will not be attending.”

The words landed heavy. I frowned. “What?”

Barnes folded his hands. “The bishop has requested our presence at St. Augustine’s. Their parish is in crisis—staff shortage, funding collapse. They need guidance.”

Samuel added, “We’ll be gone the same three days as the retreat. We leave Thursday night.”

I straightened. “Then who—”

“You,” Barnes interrupted gently. “It falls to you now.”

Silence stretched.

I felt the weight of it settle on my shoulders. “Alone?”

“Not alone,” Barnes said quickly. “Mrs. Clarke will be there. She is formidable. She will handle the logistics. You will provide spiritual leadership. And Father Nico, of course, will assist.”

My jaw tightened. “Assist,” I repeated.

Barnes gave a small smile, unaware of the way the word burned in my throat. “Yes. He has energy, passion. You have order, discipline. Together, you’ll balance one another.”

Samuel chuckled. “Balance, indeed. Fire and ice.”

I said nothing.

Barnes leaned forward, voice kind. “Dorian, this is your moment. The youth need you. They will look to you for strength.”

I met his gaze. “And if I fail?”

“You won’t,” he said simply.

Samuel tapped his cane once on the floor. “Don’t let Nico run wild. That one… he has a tongue like honey and a will like stone. Be careful.”

I already knew.

Barnes rose from his chair and clasped my shoulder. His grip was light, but the weight behind it wasn’t. “You are not alone, son. God is with you. And Mrs. Clarke. And the boy.”

I stiffened. “The boy?”

“Ezra,” he said kindly. “He’ll be there. You’ll guide him. He trusts you.”

My throat closed. “He shouldn’t.”

Barnes tilted his head. “Why not?”

I forced my voice steady. “Because he is… young. Impressionable.”

Samuel let out a wheeze of a laugh. “You sound like me, forty years ago.”

Barnes ignored him. “Then guide him well, Dorian. Protect him. That is your calling.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, Father.”

Barnes squeezed my shoulder once more, then let go. “Good. We leave tomorrow evening. The retreat is yours. Make it something the youth will remember.”

I nodded, though inside, my chest was tight.

Samuel muttered as he rose, leaning on his cane, “God help you, boy. Because Nico won’t.”

They both chuckled softly. I didn’t.

Outside the office, I stopped in the hallway.

Children ran past, their shoes slapping the tile. A woman asked where confession was held. Voices echoed down the corridor.

But all I heard was Barnes’s voice. Ezra. He trusts you.

I clenched my fists.

He shouldn’t.

And yet—he did.

Later that evening, I sat with Barnes and Samuel one more time. They went over travel plans, what to leave behind, which parish matters would wait.

“Three days isn’t long,” Barnes said. “But it is enough. Enough to touch their hearts.”

“Enough for them to test me,” I muttered.

Samuel smirked. “You’re a priest. You should welcome tests.”

“I welcome God’s tests. Not man’s games.”

Barnes chuckled softly. “Sometimes they’re the same.”

I didn’t argue.

When the meeting ended, they packed their folders, spoke of trains and hotel arrangements. I stood by the door, hands clasped behind my back.

Barnes paused before leaving. “Dorian, you carry a heaviness. Do not let it crush you. You were chosen for a reason.”

“Chosen,” I repeated.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Chosen.”

I inclined my head. “Safe travels, Father.”

He smiled warmly and walked out.

Samuel followed, cane tapping on the stone floor. As he passed me, he muttered under his breath, “Keep your eyes open. Not everyone in this parish is what they seem.”

I didn’t need the warning. I already knew.

When the doors shut, I stood alone in the empty office. The light from the window cut across the table. The chairs were still warm from where they’d sat.

Three days.

Three days in the mountains.

Three days with Ezra.

Three days with Nico.

I closed my eyes.

And I prayed—for strength, for control, for distance.

Prayed that I would not betray myself. Or him.

But when I opened my eyes, the prayer still felt unanswered.