Something about hospitals and miracles never sits right with me. Maybe it’s the smell of sterilized air pretending to be holy, or maybe it’s that miracles don’t wait for permission slips.
Tonight, I thought we were bringing Elizabeth home. I was wrong.
Faith has a way of changing its schedule when danger decides to follow you out the door.

Before we left Elizabeth’s ward, Seth pulled her aside and promised to cover her medical bills.

Oh, the sweet, considerate goody-two-shoes, because I already did.

I told Elizabeth we would pick her up tomorrow and that she would be coming home with us, her new home.
She nodded, a soft, grateful smile breaking through the fatigue that clung to her like a second skin.

But the smile faded almost as quickly.
“I’d rather come with you now,” she said quietly. Her fingers tightened around the blanket, eyes flicking toward the door as if she expected someone to walk in uninvited. “I know it’s my fault people think Israel is some kind of demon baby.” She glanced down at the sleeping child, her voice lowering. “They keep coming into the ward. Some I know, some I don’t. They whisper when they think I’m asleep. They want to see if the rumors are true.”

Her voice trembled, just enough to make my chest tighten.
“I can’t stay another night here, Max. I don’t feel safe. And I don’t fully trust myself to handle Israel alone if something strange happens again. Please… just take us with you.”

For a moment, I studied her, exhausted yet resolute, fear stitched through every word she didn’t say. Then I nodded.
“Alright. Gather your things. You’re not staying here another night.”

Relief softened her face, and for the first time since the ward, she exhaled without shaking.

About fifteen minutes later, we exited the hospital into the thick, sticky night.
Seth, still brooding beside me, was melodramatic about the whole medical-bill revelation.

I caught his hand mid-pout, squeezing it.
"You are such a martyr," I teased. "Next thing you know, you will demand sainthood."
He mumbled something about betrayal under his breath.

"I want to visit St. Augustus Church," I announced, steering the conversation back to business. "I got intel that the resident priest is dealing with a family claiming their home is possessed."

Alec halted so abruptly that Jamey slammed into his back with an undignified grunt.
"Hey, idiot!" Jamey protested, clutching his nose. "Put your hazards on before you just brake like that!"

Without missing a beat, Alec spun around, grabbed Jamey by both arms, and leaned in, all righteous fury.
"Who is your idiot, idiot?  Watch where you are going."

Then Alec turned sharply to me, brow furrowed. "Where did you get this so-called intel?"

Lady Elsa stepped forward, arching a brow at Alec’s unusual tension. "I did," she said. "You do not seem thrilled about it."
She tilted her head, studying me now. "Isn’t this what you people do?"

I offered a sheepish smile, hands raised. "If you knew what we went through at the last haunted house, you would understand why Alec is having traumatic flashbacks."
Laughter bubbled between us, softening the tension.

Just as I was about to climb into the car, a chill brushed the back of my neck.
Familiar.
Unwelcome.

I paused, letting the feeling breathe. It wasn’t fear. It was recognition, the same subtle current that always came before something unseen moved. The kind of warning the body remembered before the mind caught up.

Across the street, a man stood half-shrouded beneath a hooded sweatshirt, watching.
The second our eyes met, he turned sharply and ducked into a corner store.

I said nothing.
I didn’t need to.

The Living Scripture stirred beneath my skin, faint golden glyphs rippling like liquid fire under glass. It whispered against my pulse, readying itself, waiting for permission I didn’t give.

Not every tremor deserved a storm.
Not every threat deserved an answer.

As we pulled out of the lot, I caught a glimpse of him again in the side mirror, slipping into a small, battered car.

The chill didn’t fade. It settled deeper, threading through my spine like a memory that refused to be forgotten.

The game had officially begun.

We reached St. Augustus within twenty minutes.
The parking lot was crammed, more cars than the modest old church seemed able to stomach.
I glanced at my watch: a little after seven. Mass was in full swing.

Turning to the others, I offered, "How about attending mass? It has been a while since we showed our faces in a church, and maybe Heaven misses ours."

Seth, Alec, Jamey, and Lady Elsa accepted the invite. Elizabeth said she wanted to feed Israel, and Samantha offered to stay with her. Gabriel said he would stand watch, and Samuel agreed to stay with him, and without a word, the rest followed me into the church with a silent understanding that we could use the blessing.

We stepped into the foyer where a handful of young ushers immediately snapped to attention, their wide eyes locking onto us like we were a procession of ghosts.
Their reaction was a clumsy blend of awe, uncertainty, and sheer terror as they scrambled to part a path for us.

The doors creaked open.
The moment our feet hit the threshold, silence crashed over the church like a collapsing wave.
Hundreds of heads swiveled toward us.
Frozen.
Staring.

Jamey tugged at my sleeve, whispering loudly, "Do we smell weird, or do we just look like an unscheduled apocalypse?"
I nudged him off, muttering back, "Neither. We just look new."

Alec stepped closer to me. "I suggest we move to the front. Their stares feel like spiders crawling up my spine. So make it quick."
I obeyed and the rest followed.

The priest’s eyes widened, as if he was about to speak, but the moment shattered like glass under a hammer.

Gunshots.
The echo ripped through the church from the foyer, sharp and jarring, followed by the high, panicked shrieks of parishioners.

The double doors slammed open.
Five armed men stormed inside, shouting, cursing, and kicking over the wooden welcome table with a deafening crash.
One fired into the ceiling, plaster raining down like ash.
"Nobody move!" one of them roared, voice ragged with adrenaline.
"We own this service now!" another barked, brandishing his weapon toward the stunned congregation.

A ripple of chaos swept through the pews, people scrambling under benches, clutching each other, prayers rising in gasps.
But we did not move.
We could not.

By brutal providence, we were still at the front.
Had we stayed close to the entrance, we might have sung a different song, but if we acted now, others might fall within the line of fire.

A lazy, mocking voice cut through the confusion.
The hooded man stepped forward from the side aisle, his hand lifting casually, and pointed straight at us.
"There," he said, voice almost a murmur of admiration. "Those are your targets."