Brother Morales stood near the curtain, looking through the smallest gap.

Vehicles moved on the distant street.

Voices carried oddly in the night air.

Somewhere nearby a door slammed. Somewhere farther away, someone shouted.

Sasha’s hand found Nathan’s hair and stayed there.

In the holding facility across the city, Samuel had been moved with others into a larger room. No one needed to explain what they all sensed. The pressure was no longer selective. It was collective. The final hostility of the nations against Jehovah’s people was underway.