The rain stopped halfway home.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
One moment it was pounding the windshield, the next it vanished—as if someone had closed a door above the sky.
He eased off the accelerator.
That wasn't normal.
Neither was the way the streetlights flickered in sequence as he passed beneath them, each one dimming just a second too early, like they were being switched off behind him.
His phone buzzed.
He didn't look.
It buzzed again.
He pulled over.
Hands tight, jaw clenched, he picked it up.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
You went to the church.
He exhaled sharply. "You said next time I choose."
The reply came after a pause.
And you did.
His chest tightened. "I didn't agree to anything."
Agreement is loud, the message returned.
Acceptance is quiet.
A chill crept through him.
"Then say it," he whispered. "Say what you want."
The screen went dark.
The engine stalled.
His breath caught. "No—"
The dashboard lights flickered, then died. Silence fell heavy and unnatural, wrapping the car like a held breath.
Then the passenger door opened.
He didn't hear footsteps.
The stranger was simply there.
Dry. Calm. Unhurried.
"You shouldn't do that," he said tightly. "People notice when cars stop in the middle of the road."
The man smiled faintly. "Not tonight."
His heart pounded. "Get out."
"Soon," the stranger said. "But first—we need to talk."
He swallowed. "About what you did at my apartment?"
"No," the man replied gently. "About what they did at the hospital."
Rage flared hot and fast. "You manipulated me."
"I informed you," the stranger corrected. "There's a difference."
"You used her voice."
The man's eyes darkened slightly. "I showed you how deep the wound goes."
"That wasn't yours to touch."
"Nothing sacred is untouchable once heaven steps back," the stranger said calmly.
Silence stretched between them.
"What do you want?" he asked again, quieter now.
The stranger leaned back, folding his hands. "I want you to finish what you started."
"I didn't start anything."
"You asked questions," the man replied. "You knocked."
His throat burned. "And the price?"
The stranger studied him for a long moment.
"Truth," he said. "Without protection. Without mercy."
"And after that?"
"You act."
His pulse thundered. "Act how?"
The stranger reached into his coat and placed something gently on the dashboard.
A hospital ID badge.
Not his.
A doctor's.
Dr. Samuel R——
Authorization Authority
His breath hitched.
"He signed the delay," the stranger said softly. "Not because he believed it was right. Because it was convenient."
His hands trembled. "Why are you giving me this?"
"Because heaven won't hold him accountable," the man replied. "But you can."
"That's not justice," he said hoarsely. "That's revenge."
The stranger's smile faded.
"Justice is what we call it when we agree with the outcome," he said. "Revenge is what we call it when we don't."
The words settled heavy and sharp.
"I won't do it," he said.
The stranger nodded, unbothered. "That's your choice."
Relief flickered—
—then died.
"Someone else will," the man continued. "Someone without your hesitation. Without your restraint."
His chest tightened. "Who?"
The stranger leaned closer, voice low.
"Another man," he said, "who lost more than you did."
A beat.
"And when he acts," the stranger added, "the blood won't be on your hands."
The car lights flickered back to life.
The engine roared.
The stranger opened the door.
"One day," he said, stepping out, "you'll wish I'd asked less of you."
The door shut.
The road was empty.
The ID badge remained on the dashboard.
His phone buzzed one last time.
This is the offer.
Next time, you don't get to ask what happens if you refuse.