Chapter 3

By morning, she had made up her mind. She would go to the chapel. Alone.

Marius arrived just after breakfast, his face etched with worry. He set down two cups of coffee on her kitchen table and waited. Agnė told him about the call, about Jonas's demand. Marius listened without interrupting, his hands wrapped around his mug.

"You know this is a bad idea," he said finally.

"I know." Agnė took a sip of coffee. "But I need to hear what he has to say. I need to understand."

Marius studied her. "Then let me come with you. I'll wait in the car, out of sight."

"He said alone."

"And you trust him?"

Agnė shook her head slowly. "No. But I trust myself."

Marius sighed but did not argue. He knew her well enough to recognize the resolve in her voice. "At least take my phone. Keep it on. If anything feels wrong, call me and I'll come running."

She nodded. "Thank you."

The day passed in a haze of small tasks—tidying the studio, sorting brushes, trying to paint but finding the colors wrong. Her mother called, asking about dinner, and Agnė made an excuse. She could not face Elena's questions, not yet.

At four o'clock, she changed into a warm sweater and sturdy boots. The October air had turned crisp, the sky a pale, watery blue. She drove herself, following the directions Marius had mapped out earlier. The chapel lay on the edge of a small village, half-hidden by a grove of oaks. She had not been there since she was a child, when the local priest held summer picnics on the grounds. Now the building stood abandoned, its wooden cross askew, the bell tower empty.

She arrived at dusk, as the sun bled orange through the trees. The chapel door was ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside. The interior smelled of dust and old incense. Faint light filtered through a cracked stained-glass window, casting fractured colors on the stone floor.

"Agnė."

Jonas emerged from the shadows near the altar. He looked older—his hair longer, streaked with gray, his face lined with something between weariness and defiance. But his eyes were the same: bright, intense, holding a fire that had never quite gone out.

"You came," he said.

"You knew I would."

He smiled, a thin, rueful expression. "I hoped."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of years between them. Then Jonas gestured to a wooden pew. "Sit. Please."

Agnė remained standing. "Why now, Jonas? Why after all this time?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Because I'm running out of time. And because I owe you an explanation."

"You owe me more than that."

He nodded, accepting the accusation. "I know. The things I said, the things I asked of you—I was wrong. The group, the sect, it became something I couldn't control. I thought I was building a community, a new way of living. But I was blind. And when I realized, I ran. I left everyone behind."

"Including me."

"Especially you." He looked at her, and for a moment his intensity softened. "You were the only one who questioned me. The only one who saw the cracks. I couldn't face that."

Agnė felt a familiar ache. "What happened to the others?"

"Scattered. Some went back to their old lives. Some... didn't." He hesitated. "There are still people who believe. Who think I abandoned a sacred mission. They've been looking for me."

"And you want my help?"

"I need someone who remembers. Someone who can help me piece together what we did, what we left behind. There are documents, recordings. They could destroy the last remnants of the group, or they could be used to restart it. I need to find them before the wrong people do."

The door creaked. Both turned. A figure stood silhouetted against the fading light.

"Viktorija?" Agnė breathed.

The woman stepped inside, brushing leaves from her coat. She was thinner than Agnė remembered, her bright smile replaced by a guarded expression. "Hello, Agnė. Jonas."

"What are you doing here?" Jonas demanded.

"I got a message. Same as her, I assume." Viktorija's eyes flickered between them. "You think you can just reappear and not expect the rest of us to notice?"

"I didn't send for you."

"No? Then who did?"

Agnė's phone vibrated. She pulled it out. A text from an unknown number: _"The chapel is not safe. Leave now."_

She showed it to the others. Jonas's face went pale. "We need to go."

But before they could move, the heavy wooden door swung shut with a loud thud. The lock clicked.

Agnė's heart pounded. She tried the door. It did not budge.

"We're trapped," Viktorija whispered.

Jonas stared at the door, his expression unreadable. "No. We're exactly where someone wants us."

Through the small window, the last light of dusk faded, plunging the chapel into near darkness. And from somewhere outside, a low hum began—a sound Agnė remembered from the old farmhouse, the sound of chanting.

The past had not stayed buried. It had been waiting.