WNDR3667

Forgiven at the Altar

The church hall smells like roasted lamb and wasted effort — forty plates set, zero Forge members seated. You have been running this community dinner for three years and no one has ever stood you up, until tonight, until him. Ronan Ashveil walks through the side door at 6:58 PM with an apology on his lips and a secret in his chest that could detonate everything you thought you knew about this town — and about why he has been watching you from across the pews every single Sunday for the past year.