What if the saints of old walked among us today-would we honor their triumphs, or whisper about their secrets?
Zarinna knows the weight of hidden truths. Once devoted, now marked by choices she cannot undo, she carries shame like a shadow she cannot...
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DAVID'S GAZE swept across the tree-lined expanse, his chest tightening with apprehension as each step carried him closer to the unknown. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and gunpowder, and the distant rustle of leaves made every shadow feel alive.
"Men!" A sharp command split the tense air. The men turned toward the speaker. "I think I may have found where she is!" His words struck like a jolt of lightning, igniting a fragile spark of hope in David's chest.
It was happening again. The surge of panic he had felt that night in the mountains clawed at him, visceral and unrelenting. His teeth ground as hatred for the men who had taken her threatened to rise, but he swallowed it, grounding himself in prayer and trust. God, deliver her—let her be safe. Every second that ticked by was agony, each one stretching into eternity.
Oh Lord, don't let any harm befall her. How could I live if something did?
He forced the horrid images from his mind, focusing on the hut atop the hill they were scaling. Armed men patrolled the walls, their weapons glinting menacingly in the fading light. The police advanced cautiously, rifles raised, their eyes sharp and wary.
David murmured silent prayers in tongues, each word a shield around his heart as he followed the officers. Several pastors he knew were with him, faces etched with tension, their footsteps careful yet determined. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, every rustle of leaves a potential threat.
A gunshot cracked through the air, reverberating like thunder. Instinctively, the unarmed men dropped, taking cover as bullets tore through the space between both sides. David's heart pounded, each shot a reminder of the stakes. He saw the terrorists fall one by one, their bodies crumpling under precision and fire. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the hut.
"David, wait!" Pastor Nestor's voice rang out, urgent, but David's focus was absolute. He didn't hear the plea; his vision was locked on the door ahead.
With a rush of adrenaline, he slammed it open. His eyes locked on Zarinna—her arms still bound above her head, her torso bare, exposed in the dim flicker of light. His fists clenched, trembling with fury as his gaze took in the vile man beside her.
"Tarantado ka ah!?" The words tore from him, sharp as a whip.
He lunged, throwing a fist with the force of pent-up rage. The man went down, clutching his bleeding lip, a snarl of pain escaping his lips. David followed with another kick, knocking the rifle to the side before grabbing the man by the collar.
"How dare you," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "How dare you touch her!?" His fists continued their relentless barrage, synchronized with the gunfire outside. Each strike was a release of fury, a plea for justice, a desperate exorcism of fear.
Finally, David released him, letting the man crumple to the floor, hissing and writhing from the pain and bruises. The room seemed to breathe with tense relief.
He turned toward Zarinna. Her face was pale, terror etched into every line. As the chains lifted her slowly, she sank to the ground, shaking, her chest rising and falling in shallow, frantic gasps.
"Zarinna," he whispered, gathering the torn blouse from the floor and wrapping it around her chest. "Zarinna... what did he do? Did he—"
"N-no," she stammered, swallowing hard, her hands trembling as she held the fabric closer to herself.
David pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. Relief surged through him, warm and bitter all at once, as he felt her small frame quake against his.
"Come," he said, his voice rough but steady. He helped her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her as they began to move, careful yet urgent.
As they walked, his gaze never left her. Each shiver she made against him twisted his stomach tighter with fear. Zarinna peered over her shoulder, and suddenly terror coursed through her again.
"David!" In a heartbeat, she clutched him, forcing them to exchange positions as she took the lead.
David's heart stuttered. A gunshot cracked through the still air, echoing off the surrounding trees like a hammer against stone. He craned his neck and saw the man rise, a gun leveled at them, his laughter chilling and unbroken even as police restrained him moments later.
David's eyes shot to Zarinna. Her face had drained of all color, every line of it etched with fear. Blood stained her hands slightly as she clutched the fabric, trembling uncontrollably. David's own hands went to his face, a wave of horror crashing through him, his spine icy.
She collapsed against him, eyelids heavy with exhaustion and terror, body trembling as he held her close. In that moment, nothing else existed—the chaos, the gunfire, the threat—all swallowed in the overwhelming weight of relief and the knowledge that she was finally safe.
DAVID PACED the floor, his movements jagged, restless, a storm of unease driving him forward and back. He had witnessed countless accidents in his life, some so horrific they made the stomach heave, yet none had pierced him like this. None had gripped his heart with such ferocity.
A torrent of emotions—fear, helplessness, anguish, a sharp edge of guilt—flooded him, crashing over his reason like relentless waves. He hadn't realized when his concern for her had grown into something deeper, something that clawed at the core of his being. She was no ordinary presence in his life. She had become indispensable. The thought of losing her now, of failing her when it mattered most, seemed unbearable, suffocating.
How could he endure it if something happened to her? If her life hung in the balance and he had done nothing to protect her? The very idea drained him of strength. He sank into the chair behind him, shoulders slumping as his gaze fixed on the stark white door of the operating room. Each tick of the clock reverberated through his chest like a drum of dread.
Oh Lord... Lord, I put Zarinna in Your care. His eyes squeezed shut, the words barely a whisper of his heart, yet heavy with conviction. No matter what happens... no matter how impossible it seems... I will trust You.
He returned his attention to the door, the sterile white surface now a symbol of hope and terror intertwined. Every fiber of him ached for movement, for news—anything that might lift the crushing weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. His fingers fidgeted against the armrest; his heart pounded as he prayed silently, longing for the door to open, for the moment when his troubled heart might finally find relief.
