Felix’s eyes seemed to grow wider with every inch Elias’s face drew closer. He wanted to do something—push him away, step back, anything—but he stood frozen, like a statue. Spellbound. His hands trembled, stuffed with cotton. The rosary slipped through his fingers and hit the floor with a sharp, echoing clatter that tore the silence apart.

  “Oh dear,” Elias muttered, ducking past the priest. He jumped off the pew and quickly picked up the fallen beads. “You dropped your favorite toy, Father Felix. What’s wrong? Got a little too excited?”

  Felix finally found the strength to move. In one ragged motion he snatched the rosary from Elias’s hands and clutched it to his chest. He was about to raise his voice—if only to reassert some measure of authority—but stopped himself. Shouting would only feed Elias’s mockery. He could not give him that satisfaction.

  “Your words are utter nonsense,” he repeated unconsciously, exhaling through clenched teeth as if trying to breathe the anger out. It didn’t work. “You have neither faith nor respect for it. So why do you come to church at all, to this holy place? Surely not to speak with God.”

  Elias’s smile vanished so abruptly that Bauer nearly flinched. A heartbeat later it was back again.

  “Well,” Elias said, the grin returning with disarming ease, “suppose I come to see you, Father!”

  Without another word, he spun on his heel and left the church, leaving the priest utterly bewildered.

  * * *

  Light flickered through the stained-glass windows, scattering sunlit patterns across the narrow corridor floor. Through the same windows, through small cracks in the wooden frames, nature revealed its quiet grace: rustling leaves, birdsong, and the shrill laughter of children—the end of a religion class. Footsteps echoed between the church and the parish house.

  In haste, Felix pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the classroom. The room smelled of candles and old paper. Children packed their bags noisily, shoving in notebooks, Bibles, and pencils. By the blackboard stood the catechist—a kind yet strict woman in her fifties, dark hair tied into a bun streaked with gray. She watched as one of the older girls, perhaps sixteen, wiped the chalk from the board. Bauer recognized her at once as the daughter of the Huber family and was about to greet her when—

  “Father Felix!” someone shouted, and the room instantly fell into excited chatter.

  Children of all ages swarmed him like a flock of sparrows, each eager to speak first—to recite a new prayer or show a drawing of some biblical story. The older girls shyly mentioned their choir progress. Felix listened quietly, answering briefly and smiling faintly. The children had always loved him—perhaps for his gentle manner, kind eyes, or soft hands. The reason didn’t matter. Today, however, he was distracted. But the children, thrilled to see him, had no intention of letting their priest go.

  “Father Felix, we’ve got two new boys!” someone exclaimed, and the others cheered. They pushed forward two identical boys, gripping each other’s hands nervously. The Huber twins clearly recognized the priest and, perhaps remembering their older brother’s behavior in church, looked mortified.

  “See, they look the same, Father! This one’s Thomas,” a boy pointed to the right, “he forgets everything and has a scar on his ear, and this one’s—”

  “Hey!” Thomas snapped, spinning around. “Don’t call me stupid or I’ll tell my brother!”

  Before Felix could speak, a sharp crack of a ruler silenced the argument. The catechist stood with her arms crossed and one brow arched in warning.

  “Conflicts are forbidden,” she said sternly. The girl behind her mimicked her stance with such conviction that both twins turned pale. “Class dismissed, children. Say goodbye to Father Felix—until next Saturday.”

  Bauer nodded gratefully, accepting the children’s hasty apologies. He patted a few heads, gave blessings, and finally watched them rush off to their parents. When the room quieted, he lowered his hands and began to thumb the rosary again.

  “Goodbye, Miss Hofmann!” called the blonde girl, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder.

  “Goodbye, Lisa,” the woman replied, then called after her suddenly, “And tell your brother to be here at three!”

  Felix didn’t react. He murmured to himself and sank onto one of the benches with a weary sigh, pressing his knuckles to his forehead as his fingers moved faster along the beads.

  “Katharina, I have a problem,” he finally said, voice low. “I think one of the parishioners is... interested in me.”

  The last word came out barely audible. Miss Hofmann gave a soft hum and sat across from him, her deep black eyes fixed on his face. It was a gaze few could bear—too penetrating, too knowing.

  “Why do you think that?” she asked carefully.

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  “Because it’s impossible not to notice!” Bauer twisted one of the beads. “He’s been following me, showing up to talk even though he doesn’t believe, giving... attention. Like a schoolgirl outside her crush’s classroom.” He sighed again, rubbed his face, and looked up at her. “What should I do?”

  “Do what your heart tells you,” Katharina said calmly. “Does this parishioner interest you?”

  “Yes, but...” He faltered, embarrassed. “Not in that sense. I’m married, Kath...”—she gently touched his fingers, stilling them—“it’s all too complicated.”

  “You make everything more complicated than it is,” she said with a small shake of her head. “If he’s intrusive, tell him so. But honestly...” She leaned closer. “I’ve never seen you so shaken over someone. That speaks volumes.”

  Felix opened his mouth but stopped. He couldn’t admit that the stalker was a man. He and Katharina had known each other all their lives—she’d tutored him in theology at seminary, seven years his senior—and they had never touched such subjects. So he only pressed his lips together and sighed, massaging his temples.

  “Perhaps you’re right, Kath...”

  * * *

  When Felix finally finished his work in the office, he stepped outside, holding the heavy oak door. The courtyard buzzed with voices and laughter: volunteers arranging baskets, greeting visitors, decorating tables. He spotted Katharina easily—graceful as ever despite her strict composure, she was setting out plates of food. Molly, too, was easy to find, chatting with a city official by the gate, smiling sweetly. Everything felt strangely peaceful. Felix loved charity days; they made him feel closer to people, and people—closer to each other.

  More visitors arrived. Children and adults from poor families approached the tables where neatly folded clothes waited. His volunteers displayed them like items in a boutique, not alms—Felix knew poverty often carried pride. Some children grabbed what they could and ran, avoiding compassionate eyes.

  He glanced toward another table where a mountain of books and school supplies had piled up—Katharina’s idea from a few years back. Near the bottom sat a large box of books, barely visible but clearly needed. Felix rolled up his sleeves and bent to lift it; pain shot through his back. Too old for this, he thought, grimacing. He had just set the box down when someone snatched it from his hands.

  “My, Father Felix, you really don’t take care of yourself,” came a mocking voice.

  Elias stood before him, hair tied loosely back, wearing jeans and a leather jacket thrown over a bare chest. Felix’s face changed before he could stop it—first pale, then flushed, as Elias’s eyes traveled down his figure. His hands moved faster than thought; he buttoned his coat, hiding himself.

  “Elias, I don’t approve of your... tendency to undress on church grounds,” he said through his teeth, lightly touching the young man’s shoulder—a bad habit—guiding him toward the table.

  “What can I do,” Elias laughed, “when you’re only ever on church grounds, Father?”

  “I don’t understand—and I don’t wish to,” Felix muttered.

  “Suit yourself,” Elias drawled, tossing a book onto the table before suddenly grabbing Felix’s hands. “But then why do you keep showing yours off? Trying to seduce your parishioners?”

  “What nonsense—” Felix looked around in panic, trying to pull free, but Elias’s grip was firm. “Stop this. There are people watching.”

  “Not until you stop avoiding me!” Elias tightened his hold, moving closer. His eyes fell to Felix’s bare wrists, and his tone changed. “What’s this, then?”

  “You insolent child, I’m married, and you—! Let go,” Felix snapped, wrenching his hands downward. He was ready to scold him, but Elias’s face darkened with something like sadness, and the anger slipped away. “Let’s talk inside. Not here,” he said quietly, noticing glances from nearby. “Not in front of everyone.”

  “I couldn’t refuse, not when you asked so sweetly,” Elias murmured, smiling like a predator that had finally caught its prey, and released him.

  Felix straightened his sleeves, cleared his throat, and motioned for him to follow. They passed the volunteers and entered the church. Felix longed for the privacy of his office, that sacred refuge. As if within holy walls the tempter could not reach him. Deep down he knew that was a lie—but it was a comforting one.

  “Elias, dear, where are you going?” came a woman’s anxious voice. “What have you done this time?”

  “To confess,” Felix answered quickly, the first excuse that came to mind. “Elias wishes to confess, Mrs. Huber.” He nudged the young man inside. “We’ll be right back.”

  Elias waved cheerfully to his mother as the door creaked shut. Silence filled the office, heavy with incense and the faint judgment of saintly faces on the icons. Felix drew the curtains and rubbed his face, exhausted. Elias perched on the edge of his desk, scattering his neatly stacked papers. Bauer winced but didn’t protest.

  “So,” Elias said mockingly, “may I confess, Father Felix?”

  Felix nodded silently.

  “Well then... I confess!” Elias declared theatrically. “I’ve sinned—oh, I’m drowning in sin! So lost in lust I no longer care if it’s a married woman or a man. Forgive me, merciful Lord!” He raised his arms in mock devotion. “Or better yet—don’t forgive me! For I’m free to make any choice you already know I’ll make, isn’t that right, Father Felix?”

  “Right,” the priest answered tersely, keeping his composure. “Are you ready to repent, then?”

  “Oh, spare me,” Elias scoffed, leaning forward sharply. “You just want to judge me, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  There was no replying to that. It wasn’t a question—it was an accusation, hanging in the air of their strange one-man theater. Felix sighed and reached for the cross on his chest; Elias caught his wrist, and the priest gasped softly as the young man examined his veined hands.

  “You said you’re married. I see no ring! Lying is a sin too, Father!”

  “You mean slander, and it’s not a mortal one,” Felix replied evenly, as if accepting the absurd game. “I don’t wear the ring to events like these—I don’t want to lose it. Let go, you’re holding too tight.”

  “And what’s her name?” Elias pressed, ignoring the plea and squeezing harder. The pain drew a faint line between Felix’s brows. “Katharina? Or one of your parish ladies?”

  “No, it’s not your...” Felix winced, the grip tightening. “Her name is Molly. Molly Bauer. You don’t know her—and it’s none of your concern.”

  “Molly?” Elias raised his brows, finally releasing him. Felix rubbed the sore wrist. “You keep surprising me, Father.” His grin turned vulgar, unsettling. “Would that be the same Molly who organized the charity event—and agreed to have dinner with me? Lovely earrings she had... and your wallet. She did like that café on the corner, didn’t she?”

  “You’re lying,” Felix whispered, recoiling as if struck. His face froze in practiced calm, but his eyes betrayed him. Elias laughed quietly.

  “I’m not. She’s cheating on you, Felix.”