On his way to the church, Adam noticed a change in the surroundings. The slum’s chaotic sprawl faded as he entered a slightly more organized part of the city. The streets weren’t any cleaner—filth still clung to every corner, and discarded refuse cluttered the alleys—but there were fewer homeless figures slumped against the walls, fewer hands reaching out for spare coins. He spotted police officers stationed at intervals, leaning idly against buildings, their watchful eyes roving over the passersby. The place had an air of rough control, with a strange mix of order and decay that reminded Adam of something out of the 18th century. He almost liked the dark nostalgia of it.

As he passed, a beggar cautiously approached one of the officers, offering a polite smile, only to receive a brutal kick to the face. The beggar stumbled backward, clutching his cheek, while the people around barely noticed, stepping around him without a second glance. Adam, watching the scene, felt a laugh bubbling up inside him, unexpected and uncontrollable. The absurdity of it all—the way life kept crushing those already broken—struck him, and he began to laugh, a hollow, bitter sound that echoed down the street.

The officer’s gaze snapped toward him, and he approached with a hard glare. “You want a taste of that too?” he sneered, sizing Adam up.

Adam raised his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling. “Oh no, no, sir. I’ll just… be on my way.” He slipped past, his laughter fading to a smirk as he moved on, though the hollow feeling inside him remained. This world’s a joke, he thought.

He wandered onward, a faint smile playing on his lips. Occasionally, he laughed to himself, the absurdity of his situation hitting him in waves. He even slapped his thigh a few times, as if the humor of it all somehow dulled the ache gnawing at his stomach. Shops lined the streets here, though most were shut tight, their windows dim and dusty. Some residents opened their doors only to toss refuse onto the street, treating the road as nothing more than a public trash heap.

The street itself was little more than sand and gravel, gritty and uneven. With holes in his worn shoes, he felt every grain against his feet, but he didn’t care. Around him, merchants had set up makeshift stalls in front of rundown buildings, selling what looked like junk—rusted tools, scraps of cloth, half-broken trinkets. It was as though the whole city was crumbling and fraying, with people barely holding on to what little they had.

The path sloped upward, guiding him toward a larger, grander building. It was the church, standing modestly against the bleak backdrop, yet positioned with an air of authority. As he drew closer, he noticed a small gathering outside, their faces unusually bright. They were smiling—people actually smiling in this forsaken place. It was the first time he’d seen anyone smile here other than himself.

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One of the men in the group caught Adam’s eye, and the two stared at each other for a tense moment. Just then, his stomach let out a loud growl, breaking the silence. Adam gave a sheepish grin, revealing his unkempt, yellowed teeth. The man chuckled, shaking his head with a hint of pity, and hurried over.

“Come in,” he said, gesturing Adam toward the church doors with a welcoming nod.

As Adam stepped inside, a man in modest priestly robes approached him, his thin frame draped in the simple, worn fabric of someone who had long since renounced worldly comforts. His hair was graying at the temples, and his face carried the quiet warmth of someone who genuinely cared for those around him. It was Idris, one of the church’s priests, and as he saw Adam, his face lit up with a cautious smile.

“Badr!” Idris exclaimed, his tone friendly but measured. “It’s been some time. How are you holding up?”

Adam hesitated for a moment, forcing a polite smile as he searched for the right words. “I’m... managing, same as always.”

Idris nodded, his hands clasped in front of him. “Managing, hmm? Well, it’s good to see you back here. The church has always been a place for those who need it, you know that.” His voice was gentle, but Adam could detect the faint undertone of curiosity, even concern.

Adam didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking briefly around the modest interior. He knew Badr had spent years among these people, had been familiar with every face, every name. They would remember him, but Adam wasn’t here to rehash old connections. He had one purpose.

Idris seemed to sense the awkward silence and tried to fill it with a casual tone. “You know, we’ve been working on repairs in the east wing. A blessing, really, that we’ve had enough volunteers this time. Have you thought about lending a hand? It could be a good way to reconnect with—”

“I was hoping to see the Father,” Adam interrupted, his voice calm but firm, cutting through Idris’s idle chatter.

Idris blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. “The Father? Well, I can help you with whatever you need, Badr. I’m here, aren’t I? You don’t need to trouble him.”

Adam shook his head slightly, his expression unyielding. “I appreciate that, but I really need to speak with him. It’s important.”

Idris hesitated, studying Adam’s face for a long moment. His warm smile faltered, replaced by a faint sigh of resignation. “He’s a busy man, you know that. But… if it’s truly important…” He trailed off, his tone suggesting he didn’t entirely agree but wouldn’t press further.

“It is,” Adam said simply, his calm demeanor leaving no room for argument.

Idris gave a small, reluctant nod, stepping aside and gesturing toward the interior. “Very well. He’s in his study. I’ll go call him, you can rest on a bench until he arrives”

“Thank you,” Adam said, his voice even, though his mind was already elsewhere, focused on what lay ahead.