Page 136 of Shadow

And as if it came accompanied by angels singing and flashes of light, just like that, she knew why the words had stopped her cold, where she’d heard them before—her father’s funeral.

Words she’d rejected. Because if God never left, then why had her father died? Why had her partner betrayed her?

But sitting in the darkness—really sitting with it, feeling it, letting it soak into her, she saw it.

Asher, buying her pizza. Asher, making breakfast with her. Asher, dancing with her. Asher, saving her from an explosion and diving at Dmitri when he’d attacked her at the house. Asher, bailing out of an SUV, buying into her plan.

Asher the hero.

Listen—playing both sides was the only way I could build my case. I had to get close enough to gather hard evidence⁠—

Maybe he was right. Maybe rules didn’t keep you safe. But maybe love did. Maybe love was the only thing that she could count on.

Because in the end, when she’d stood by her father’s grave…she’d still had it.

Pancake memories.

The sense that, no matter what, her father had loved her.

And so what he’d made a choice that ended up getting him killed? That didn’t mean he’d left her.

And maybe…maybe God hadn’t left her either. Just because bad things happened, didn’t mean…well, what had Duke said? You believe that He’s not leaving. Even when you mess up. Even when you fail. Even when you do things you regret. And even when terrible things happen that you don’t have any control over.

She blew out a breath, and with it, the terrible knot in her chest.

Her father had chosen to chase suspects. Because he was a cop. A protector. His choice, not God’s abandonment.

Her partner had chosen betrayal. That was his choice. His failure. Not God’s absence.

And Asher—Asher had chosen deception. Had chosen eighteen months of trying to find justice because he was complicated and broken and human.

But he hadn’t betrayed her. Hadn’t called Draven—Daphne had been wrong about that final accusation.

Maybe that’s what faith meant. Not that nothing bad ever happened, like Duke said. And not that people wouldn’t fail you or break your trust.

But that you wouldn’t be alone when it happened.

And maybe, sitting in this darkness, Daphne had a choice: Keep building walls. Keep protecting herself. Keep running from faith and trust and vulnerability.

Or believe that God was present. Even when everything fell apart.

She closed her eyes—not that she could see anyway, but, you know, prayer. “God—I don’t know if You’re listening. I don’t know if I deserve Your help after fifteen years of ignoring You. But—I need You. I need to believe You’re here. That I’m not alone. That even if I can’t save him—even if I can’t fix this—You’re still present.”

Her voice broke. Tears wet her face, soaking into her jeans where her knees pressed against her face.

“Help me,” she whispered. “Please. Help me figure out what to do. Help me have faith. Even now. Even here.”

Silence. Just the darkness. Just her breathing. Just the weight of the prayer hanging in the airless space.

Then—something. Not a voice. Not a sign. Just…peace. Small. Fragile. But present. It swept inside her and filled her chest with the sense that she wasn’t alone. That the darkness wasn’t empty.

Maybe it was faith. Or the beginning of it.

Daphne opened her eyes. Shifted her weight. Felt something dig into her hip.

The pocketknife. Asher’s pocketknife.

She pulled it out. Opened it.