In the late afternoon, a black sedan glides into the parking lot behind the cathedral. The engine hums lowly before coming to a stop exactly at a distance where Ian could reach it by stretching out his arm.

He turns his head at the sound of the car. It is a familiar car. That black one. It's that car again.

Reflexively, he straightens his posture. He tidies his clerical collar and fixes his expression. He tries to pull the corners of his mouth down, but it doesn't work well. Whenever that person comes, his mouth just seems to relax on its own.

...You've come again.

He mumbles as if talking to himself. It is a voice that even he can't distinguish whether it sounds welcomed or worried. He tightly hugs the Bible he was holding to his chest.