The hymn swelled and the door seemed to shiver against the chain.

Zubair leaned his shoulder into the wood, a quiet force that turned the frame into a brace.

Brass light spilled through the crack and painted the hallway in warm gold, soft as kitchen lamps on an ordinary evening that didn’t exist anymore.

Luci held the threshold like it belonged to him, head low, hackles up, a steady rumble running the length of his spine.

Lachlan kept his voice to a ghost. "There’s a whole choir out there."

Alexei didn’t answer, his posture loose in a way that meant nothing about him was relaxed.

Elias’s fingers tightened on the back of the nearest chair until the wood complained. He breathed out, set the chair down, then picked it up again like he couldn’t tell where his hands were supposed to be in a situation that required manners instead of violence.

Sera stepped into the glow.

Curiosity pulled her forward, not bravado.

Even the creature inside of her demanded that they learn more, that they experience more. And if they didn’t like the answer, then at least there was a buffet of a whole other kind.

The light caught on the black of her eyes and gave back a glint like there might be stars hidden somewhere deep, only they’d never be for anyone else.

The hymn brushed over her skin—first a sound, then a pressure, then something close to a heartbeat that wasn’t hers trying to teach hers a new rhythm.

"Don’t crowd the line," Zubair warned, voice steady as a level.

She didn’t.

She let the chain set the distance and stood within it, her shoulder almost touching his arm. Through the narrow gap she could see them—white shirts, black ties, pale blue cardigan, ribbons tied neat.

Lanterns, a dozen at least, clean glass, and a quiet flame.

The man in the center wore the same patient smile.

The girl hugged her binder open to a page full of tidy columns. Behind them, more faces, all with that polished calm, all looking at her like she was the point of the page, the one blank line they were pleased to fill.

The man lifted his lantern a fraction, warming the threshold with more gold. "The light keeps fear from lying," he offered gently, as if he were handing a cup to someone shaking.

Lachlan’s mouth tilted without humor. "Got anything that keeps salesmen from lying?"

The man didn’t blink. "You’ll hear what is true. You’ll hear what God wants you to hear."

Sera let her fingers rest on the door where the light laid a small square.

Heat soaked the wood, not hot enough to hurt, just enough to make her think of camp stoves and candles and a hundred kitchens she’d never stood in.

The hymn shifted key. The voices didn’t waver. No one outside glanced for a cue; the change happened like breathing in a body that had practiced for years.

Elias leaned in, voice close to her ear. "That rhythm—hear it? Six beats, then a rest. Over and over."

"It’s how you march a crowd without moving their feet," Alexei murmured.

Zubair’s weight held constant. The chain didn’t creak. "You want the first word," he told the man. "Use it."

The man didn’t take offense. He tipped his chin the smallest degree, as if acknowledging a partner in a dance.

"Obedience is the doorway," he began, his tone even, a cadence meant to slide under defenses. "Surrender, then cleansing, then rest. The body will learn to trust the light. The mind will stop inventing shadows. The soul will stop arguing with the truth."

Sera didn’t flinch at the word ’obedience’. The word rolled off her like a wave that had forgotten its foam. She has been obedient all her life. The word alone wasn’t enough to get her back up.

"What happens to people who don’t learn fast?" she asked, her voice carrying off into the darkness.

The girl’s ponytail swayed once in the lantern breeze. "We give them time."

"How much."

"As much as we’re permitted," the man answered, honest as glass. "Before the turn."

The word turn tried to push into her bones. She let it pass through her without a second thought.

A lantern shifted; the light flared; a faint scent of clean oil threaded into the air like a polite letter slipped under a door.

"May I show you," the girl asked, not moving closer yet. "It’s easier when we touch hands. The fear parts. The noise calms. A person can remember who they were meant to be."

Zubair’s stance changed by a grain. "No."

Sera’s head tipped. "If the fear parts, what takes its place?"

"Peace," the girl promised, soft, certain, the kind of certainty that comes from a script lived so often it stops feeling like a script. "Peace is the first mercy. Cleanliness the second. Purpose the third."

Lachlan huffed a breath that wanted to be a laugh and settled for being air. "Of course. You’ve got bullet points."

The hymn came up on that six-count again, then softened, then grew. Sera watched the flames in the glass.

They didn’t snap or pop. They didn’t eat wick faster than oil could feed them. They burned like they had a job and pride in doing it.

"Let me touch her hand," the girl tried again, not pleading, just patient. "Fear is a loud friend. We quiet it."

Zubair’s hand came up to the chain, two fingers touching the metal like he’d remind it who it worked for. "No hands through the door."

Sera lifted her own anyway, only enough to set her palm flat against the wood where the light warmed it. She didn’t press forward; she didn’t retreat. She stood in the glow and watched how the girl’s eyes brightened as if something expected had happened on cue.

The man angled his lantern so its circle kissed the edge of her skin.

Not demanding. Not invasive. The warmth rose a degree. The pressure of the hymn tucked itself under her ribs in a new place.

Elias kept his breath steady and even, a visible choice. Alexei tapped the tip of his knife against the side of his leg, a rhythm out of sync with the hymn on purpose.

Sera spoke without moving her mouth much. "You don’t leave footprints." 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

The man’s smile didn’t change. "We aren’t heavy."

Lachlan muttered for Zubair alone. "That sentence has teeth."

"They all do," Zubair returned.

The girl finally reached. Not to thrust her hand through the gap—just to lift her own, palm facing in, not touching anything.