The warmth of breakfast still lingered in the air as the four of them drifted into a quiet lull, each settling into their own comfortable corner of the morning. The kitchen had gone still again, save for the faint ticking of cooling pots and the distant hum of sunlight warming stone. With the children still fast asleep, the cathedral felt strangely spacious—peaceful in a way that felt almost sacred.
Luke leaned against the table, fingers drumming lightly, his gaze flicking between Father Wingate, Sister Maria, and Ilyrana. The moment felt right. Calm. Gentle. The kind of moment where heavy truths were easier to carry.
"So," Luke began, exhaling slowly. "There's… something I should probably bring up."
Sister Maria's brows rose with soft curiosity, while Father Wingate folded his hands over his lap, as though bracing himself for whatever Luke was about to confess. Ilyrana shifted slightly closer, already knowing where this was heading.
