The walls of the Sanhedrin chamber were steeped in tradition, a sanctuary for the interpretation of law and scripture. Tonight, however, they served as the backdrop for a clandestine trial, a hurried assembly of priests, elders, and teachers of the law. At the center stood Jesus, His eyes bloodshot but steady, His hands bound.

The Chief Priest paced before Him, his robe billowing like a cloud of judgment. “Well?” he barked, as one false witness after another came forward, their testimonies incongruous and their motives thinly veiled.

Frustrated, the chief priest turned to Jesus, his eyes narrowing. "Are you not going to answer? What is this testimony that these men bring against you?"

Jesus remained silent. Finally, unable to contain his exasperation, The chief priest said with a bold roar, "I charge you under oath by the living God. Tell us if you are the Messiah, the Son of God!"

"You have said so," Jesus replied calmly, "but I say to all of you: From now on you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven."

The chief priest tore his robes dramatically, shouting, "He has spoken blasphemy! What further need do we have of witnesses? He deserves death!"

Meanwhile, Peter huddled in the courtyard, shivering not from the cold but from a gnawing dread. His eyes remained fixed on the closed doors behind which his Master stood accused.

A servant girl approached him, squinting in the firelight. "You also were with Jesus of Galilee," she declared.

Peter’s heart lurched. "I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, backing away.

Another servant girl noticed him as he moved toward the gateway. "This man was with Jesus of Nazareth," she announced.

Peter’s denial was more forceful this time. "I don't know the man!"

Then, standing by a fire to warm his hands, he was approached by a small group. One of them, a relative of the man whose ear Peter had severed—looked at him accusingly. "Didn't I see you with him in the garden?"

"Swear to God, I don’t know the man!" Peter exclaimed.

At that moment, a rooster crowed, its shrill cry piercing the early morning air. The door to the chamber opened briefly as guards shuffled in and out, and for a brief moment, Peter’s eyes met Jesus'. A torrent of shame and regret washed over him, as if each denial had been a lash upon his Master’s back.

Jesus was led away, first to the chambers of Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, and then to Herod Antipas. Both seemed puzzled by the man before them—a supposed king who wielded no sword, a revolutionary who preached love for enemies.

Back in the Praetorium, Pilate presented Jesus before the crowd, offering to release one prisoner as was custom during Passover. "Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?" he asked.

But the chief priests had done their work well, stoking the crowd into a fervor. "No, not him! Give us Barabbas!" they cried.

Pilate, his patience wearing thin, finally relented. "What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?" he asked.

The crowd’s response was deafening, a single, chilling word that echoed through the streets and alleys of Jerusalem, reaching even the hidden corners where disciples wept and enemies smirked "Crucify!"

Pilate washed his hands before the crowd, a public display of his abdication of responsibility. "I am innocent of this man’s blood," he declared. But as the water dripped from his hands, he knew that some stains are not so easily removed.