Richard’s POV

For a long moment after Paul’s question, I didn’t answer. The darkness inside the confessional felt alive pressing close, breathing with us. I could hear him shifting on the other side of the screen, the wood creaking under his weight.

“Father…?” he whispered again. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” I said finally, my voice low. “I’m here.”

I reached for the small flashlight I kept under the seat. The switch clicked weakly, and a thin, flickering beam of light pushed against the dark. The batteries were dying, but it was better than nothing.

“Stay where you are,” I told him gently. “We’ll step out. The booth isn’t safe if...