Late Evening – A Quiet Café in Grand Rapids, Michigan

  Rain taps against the windows. Jenna and Elke sit in a back booth, away from the chatter. Both have peppermint tea. Neither has touched it. The hum of Zara’s podcast still lingers in their ears. They're emotionally raw, spiritually disoriented, and the repy of Bart Ehrman’s dismantling runs in loop.

  JENNA: (eyes red, voice cracked)

  *"Are we that stupid?"

  ELKE: (softly, almost ashamed)

  *"I keep asking myself the same thing."

  (They sit in silence. Elke pulls out her leather-bound Bible, stares at it, then pushes it away like it's a relic she no longer recognizes.)

  JENNA: (shaky ugh)

  *"I’ve been teaching Romans like it was sacred w. Every youth group, every podcast. And he just—snaps fingers—dismantled it like a house of paper."

  ELKE: (wiping her cheek)

  *"And I thought I was being progressive. You know? ‘Contextual lenses,’ ‘historical nuance,’ bh bh. But he’s right. We’re rearranging furniture in a colpsing building."

  JENNA: (suddenly bitter)

  *"And Zara—God, she didn’t even have to fight. She just watched us unravel. She knew exactly when to stay quiet and let Ehrman do the killing."

  ELKE: (nodding slowly)

  *"And it wasn’t even hostile. That’s the worst part. He was… calm. Like he’d seen a hundred of us before."

  (They both pause. The rain grows heavier.)

  JENNA: (voice small)

  *"What if the Christianity we love… really is built on a lie?"

  ELKE: (tears again)

  *"Or worse… what if it was never ours to begin with?"

  (They both fall silent again. Jenna pulls out her phone, opens her podcast app, scrolls past her own show—“Reformed & Redeemed”—and taps open Zara’s test episode. She doesn’t press py. Just stares.)

  JENNA:

  *"She’s winning, Elke. Not because she’s right. But because she’s not lying to herself."

  ELKE: (quietly)

  *"And we were."

  ...

  West Michigan – Parking Lot Outside a Closed Church Building

  The sky is gray, fog hangs low over the empty lot. Elke and Jenna lean against Jenna’s dusty sedan. It’s the morning after a private clergy summit where Kevin DeYoung, Dr. Scott Crk, and Rev. Steven Witmer tried to “reassure” them after the podcast debacle.

  ELKE: (pulling her coat tighter)

  *"Did Kevin really say that? That thinking is ‘the devil’s foothold’?"

  JENNA: (nods slowly, still stunned)

  *"He said faith isn’t about reason—it’s about obedience. ‘We don’t worship a debate club,’ he said. Just... submit, even when it doesn’t make sense."

  ELKE: (murmuring)

  *"And Scott Crk quoting Luther, saying ‘Reason is the devil’s whore’ like it was comforting? I thought we were past this. I thought the Reformation meant something."

  JENNA: (quiet, bitter)

  *"And Steven—'We don't need to understand it, we just need to repeat it.’ Like faith is a script, not a soul."

  (They both go silent. The wind rustles some trash in the lot. Elke rubs her arms like she’s cold from something deeper than weather.)

  ELKE: (softly)

  *"So they don’t want us to think. Just believe. Just preach. Just accept Paul because… he’s Paul."

  JENNA: (voice shaking)

  *"No wonder Bart Ehrman wiped the floor with us. He came with sources, with historical weight, with questions. And we came with… what? Loyalty?"

  ELKE: (barely audible)

  *"Blindness."

  (Jenna wipes her eyes and chuckles darkly.)

  JENNA:

  *"You know what I keep thinking about? Zara. She doesn’t believe in grace, or Trinity, or anything I grew up with—but at least she knows why she believes what she does."

  ELKE:

  *"Yeah. And here we are, told not to ask questions. Like it’s faith… or thought. Never both."

  (A long pause. Elke stares into the fog like she’s seeing the edge of her own faith dissolving.)

  ELKE:

  *"What if the reason they don’t want us to think… is because they’re afraid we’ll see through it?"

  JENNA: (quietly)

  *"I already am."

  ***

  Amway Grand Pza Hotel, Grand Rapids – 42nd Floor, Private Suite

  Gold-trimmed doors, marble hallway. Jenna and Elke stand in front of Suite 4217. They're both dressed modestly but out of pce in the luxurious environment. Neither has been in a hotel like this—certainly not one that costs more per night than their church earns in a week. They exchange a nervous gnce.

  ELKE: (whispering)

  *"Why would Zara send us here? This is like… where senators and Saudi royals stay."

  JENNA: (anxious, knocking softly)

  *"I thought maybe she’d meet us herself. I didn’t think—"

  The door swings open. Standing there is a man, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing loose bck trousers and a crimson silk robe unfastened at the waist. His physique is sculpted like a marble statue—shoulders broad, torso defined. He doesn’t flinch or introduce himself.

  MAN: (low, calm voice)

  *"Come in."

  Elke’s breath catches. Jenna freezes. They recognize him at once.

  JENNA: (barely a whisper)

  *"That’s Hezri… the Supreme Leader of 6C."

  ELKE: (in awe)

  *"The one who took Florida, then Georgia, then D.C. without firing a shot..."

  They step inside. The suite is lit with warm gold light, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the Grand River below. A low table of dates and cardamom coffee is set out beside velvet cushions.

  HEZRI: (gesturing for them to sit, voice smooth like an orator but heavy with command)

  *"Zara told me you had questions. Fears. Maybe even… regrets."

  Jenna and Elke sit down stiffly. Hezri lowers himself with a quiet grace, posture perfect, eyes locked onto them with a gaze that feels more intimate than invasive.

  JENNA: (trying to compose herself)

  *"We… we’ve lost confidence. In our church. In what we were taught. Bart Ehrman destroyed our faith with footnotes, and our pastors told us to stop thinking. Just submit. Blindly."

  ELKE: (nodding, heart in her throat)

  *"They made us feel guilty for asking. Like questions were sins. But you—your movement—it challenges us. And we don’t know anymore… what’s true."

  HEZRI: (listens silently, nodding slowly)

  *"You were told that doubt is a disease. I tell my people: doubt is the beginning of faith. Not its end."

  Jenna and Elke are quiet. He pours them coffee with a ritualistic slowness.

  HEZRI:

  *"You were raised in a faith that worshipped words it never understood. A canon shaped by emperors. Do you know what true faith is?"

  JENNA: (softly)

  *"What?"

  HEZRI: (leans closer, voice intimate)

  *"It’s not memorizing verses. It’s seeing the system, and choosing to rise above it. 6C does not ask for your blindness. It asks for your awakening."

  ELKE: (barely audible)

  *"But… is there still room for Jesus?"

  Hezri smiles, slow and confident, like he’s heard this question many times before.

  HEZRI:

  *"Jesus was a prophet. But not a God. In our world, there’s room for prophets—but none for idols. That includes Paul. That includes doctrine written to control, not to liberate."

  They sit in silence, the world far beneath them, the church far behind. In this room, everything feels suspended between colpse and crity.

  HEZRI: (voice calm, almost tender)

  "Let me ask you both pinly. Do you still believe in Christianity?"

  Jenna gnces at Elke. Both hesitate, but slowly, solemnly, they shake their heads.

  JENNA: (softly)

  "No. Not anymore."

  HEZRI: (nods, no judgment)

  "And are you now atheists?"

  They shake their heads again, more quickly this time. Elke speaks first.

  ELKE:

  "I still want to believe there’s… something. Someone. I just don’t know what anymore."

  HEZRI: (gently smiling)

  "Then it’s easy. Reject Christianity… and still believe in God. Leave it at that."

  The words settle on them like warm rain. They both exhale, as if some ancient burden has finally been lifted.

  JENNA: (whispering)

  "That… feels like breathing again."

  ELKE: (tears welling)

  "I didn’t know how much guilt I was carrying just trying to keep the faith stitched together."

  Silence. Then Jenna’s face tightens with a new worry.

  JENNA:

  "But… what about the people back home? The youth group. My podcast listeners. The moms who ask me to pray for their sons. What happens to them?"

  HEZRI: (tilts his head)

  "If you walk away from them, it’s easy. But do you want to do that?"

  They shake their heads, slower this time. The cost is too high.

  HEZRI:

  "Then let me ask another. Do you want to continue preaching Christianity to them?"

  ELKE:

  "No. Not if it’s based on lies."

  HEZRI: (nods slowly)

  "Yet if you remain their guide, you must teach something. Teaching requires a source. A text. If you do not believe in the old text, where will you begin?"

  JENNA: (frustrated)

  "But we don’t know what else to teach. Everything outside the Bible feels like foreign territory."

  HEZRI: (leans forward, voice lower)

  "Then teach what you do know. Teach Christianity—"his eyes flicker—*but only the parts you can stand behind. Skip Paul. Skip the poison."

  The idea sits between them like a forbidden fruit. Tempting. Logical. Terrifying.

  ELKE: (doubtfully)

  "But that would be… bluffing. Half-truths."

  HEZRI: (smiling with piercing crity)

  "Then bluff if you must. But don’t lie to yourself. You’re allowed to be a bridge between worlds, so long as you know where you stand."

  He rises slowly, and without a word, moves to sit between them. Not imposing—intimate. His presence feels surgical, like he’s peeled back the masks they didn’t know they wore.

  Jenna’s lip trembles. Elke looks at her hands as though they no longer belong to a preacher.

  JENNA: (barely audible)

  "He just… made us emotionally naked."

  ELKE: (quiet, but certain)

  "And somehow… I’m not ashamed."

  Silence hangs in the room like sacred smoke. Hezri sits between the two women, close—too close—but neither moves. Elke breathes slowly, her pulse visible in her throat. Jenna stares into the distance, unsure if she’s witnessing a revetion or a colpse.

  HEZRI: (softly, to Elke)

  "You’ve carried the weight of other people’s truth for so long… do you even know what your truth tastes like anymore?"

  Elke turns to him, dazed, searching his face for a trick—but there’s only stillness, warmth, and unsettling certainty. He reaches toward her, fingers grazing her jaw. She doesn’t flinch. Just breathes.

  Then, without asking, he leans in and presses his lips to hers—not rushed, not forceful, but deliberate. There’s no lust in the gesture—only power. His mouth moves with practiced patience, like a man tasting confession. Elke doesn’t stop him. Her eyes flutter shut.

  Jenna watches—frozen. Her hands tremble on her p, lips parted but voiceless. She feels the air pull from the room, like gravity bending around them.

  When Hezri finally pulls away, Elke sits motionless, lips still parted, eyes stunned. A trace of breath escapes her as if she’s forgotten how to speak.

  HEZRI: (still calm, now to both of them)

  "That wasn’t for pleasure. That was a reminder. You’re allowed to feel. Not just preach. Not just pretend. If truth is what you seek, it will demand every part of you."

  Jenna swallows hard. For the first time, she’s not sure whether she envies Elke—or fears for her.

  Elke is still recovering from the unexpected kiss, eyes gssy, posture unsteady. Her breath is shallow, her world off its axis. Jenna watches her, torn between shock and something she can’t name—envy? Fear? Desire?

  Hezri shifts—slowly, gracefully. His presence is magnetic, impossible to look away from. He turns to Jenna now. She stiffens, lips parting to speak, to object—but no words come.

  HEZRI: (voice like warm steel)

  "You carry just as much doubt. Just as much fire. But you bury yours deeper, don’t you?"

  Jenna opens her mouth—whether to protest or confess, even she doesn't know. But Hezri doesn't wait. His hand finds her chin, tilting it up just slightly. Then he leans in.

  His lips meet hers—soft at first, like a question. But the moment lingers. His mouth moves slowly, deliberately, like he's reading a hidden nguage from her silence. Jenna doesn't resist. Her body remains frozen, but her lips respond in small, involuntary movements—like remembering something long forgotten.

  Jenna breathes out, unsteady. Elke reaches out and takes her hand without a word.

  ...

  Amway Grand – Later That Night

  The suite is dim now, the city lights casting slow-moving reflections across the ceiling. The air is heavy with silence, not oppressive but sacred—like the quiet after a storm that changed the shape of the nd.

  Jenna and Elke lie tangled in the velvet throws, breath steady, hearts quiet. The room is still, except for the rhythmic hum of distant traffic far below. Hezri sits at the edge of the bed, calmly pouring tea into a silver cup, robe now drawn loosely over his shoulders.

  The women are different. Not visibly, not in the mirror—but inside. Something old had broken open, and something new was beginning to take its pce.

  JENNA: (softly, almost afraid of her own voice)

  "I didn’t know how much I was holding in… until it wasn’t there anymore."

  ELKE: (nodding, eyes closed)

  "It wasn’t even about doctrine. Or faith. It was just… being seen. Finally."

  Hezri doesn’t speak yet. He lets the weight of their confessions float in the room a little longer, like incense after prayer.

  HEZRI: (finally, with deep calm)

  "You were not saved tonight. You were not converted. You were freed. What you do with that freedom… is entirely yours."

  The hours bleed together like spilled ink. Shadows stretch and fold around the suite, dim light flickering off mirrored surfaces. Time loses its grip.

  Jenna and Elke find themselves drawn deeper into Hezri’s presence—not pulled by force, but gravity. The kind of gravity that centers everything else around it. His arms become a refuge, vast and grounding, like a coastline holding back a storm.

  In his embrace, their defenses dissolve. There are no sermons to preach, no personas to protect. Just breath. Just heartbeat. Just the trembling release of years of restraint.

  Hezri’s kisses are not rushed—they’re explorations. Not just of skin, but of soul. With every press of his lips, he’s peeling back yers they didn’t know still clung to them. Shame. Doubt. Guilt. The echoes of pulpits and pews.

  Elke buries her face against him, trembling—not from fear, but from the strange relief of being allowed to want. Jenna, always composed, always watched, lets herself exhale into his touch as if she’s finally breathing her own air.

  ...

  Morning – Amway Grand Hotel, Marble Bath Suite

  Sunlight pours through the tall windows, bathing the marble in gold. Steam rises from the oversized tub where three bodies rest—intertwined, rexed, silent. The water is warm, still, like the hush after a storm has passed.

  Jenna lies with her head resting against Elke’s shoulder, their legs zily tangled beneath the surface. Hezri reclines at the other end, arms resting along the rim, eyes half-lidded with calm satisfaction. It’s a rare peace, one that carries no urgency.

  JENNA: (softly, with a hint of exhaustion and awe)

  "I feel… swollen. Everywhere. Especially inside."

  She says it without shame. As if her spirit itself had stretched beyond old boundaries.

  Hezri smirks, water rippling with his slight movement.

  HEZRI: (teasing)

  "Just wait until you bluff your students. Then your heart will swell even more."

  Jenna groans, half-ughing, half-dreading. Elke lets out a breathy chuckle, eyes closed, fingertips drifting slowly through the water.

  ELKE:

  "They’ll believe what we say. They always have. Even when we didn’t believe it ourselves."

  HEZRI: (calmly)

  "Then don’t bluff. Teach what you can live with. Teach what frees you first."

  Silence returns, but it's lighter now. There’s a shared understanding between them, not spoken, but deeply felt: they’ve crossed a threshold, and the versions of themselves that entered this suite st night no longer exist.

  A knock sounds at the door—Zara’s voice, muffled but chipper.

  The suite is quiet save for the soft spsh of water and occasional hum of the city below. Steam curls zily around the grand tub where Jenna and Elke rest, their bodies overpping, eyes half-closed. Hezri remains silent, content in the calm.

  The bathroom door creaks open.

  Zara enters without ceremony, dressed sleek in bck silk, a teasing grin tugging at her lips. She glides across the marble, then kneels beside the tub like a priestess attending her newly anointed initiates.

  ZARA: (pyful, irreverent)

  "So, have you two officially decided to become high-css prostitutes? Or is this still the trial run?"

  Jenna opens one eye, groaning.

  JENNA:

  "If we were prostitutes, we missed the part where we get paid."

  ELKE: (dryly)

  "Yeah. Kind of feels like charity work at this point."

  Zara ughs—an elegant, amused sound—and pulls out her phone. With a flick of her manicured thumb, she turns the screen toward them. Two transaction alerts appear:

  Deposit from: HEZRI (Personal Reserve Account)

  To: JENNA MARSHALL – 500,000

  To: ELKE MULLER – 500,000

  The screen reflects in the bathwater as both women sit up slightly—startled.

  Water sloshes. Their arms fly up instinctively, covering nothing effectively. Their breathing quickens, eyes wide with disbelief. The shift in posture sends soft ripples through the water—and across their bare skin.

  ."Half a million? Each?

  JENNA: (stammering)

  "Is this… real?"

  ELKE: (still frozen)

  Elke remains still, blinking as if the numbers on Zara’s phone might change if she looks long enough. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out. Jenna’s hand hovers above the water, caught between covering herself and reaching for something invisible—crity, maybe.

  Zara watches them both, eyes dancing with mischief. Then she grins and drops her tone into something low and mocking, but not cruel.

  ZARA:

  "Hey… high-css prostitutes. Aren’t you forgetting something?"

  She folds her arms, lips twitching"

  Zara stands gracefully, watching them with cool amusement.

  ZARA (cont’d):

  "Thank your client."

  Jenna flushes with a mix of annoyance and heat. Elke doesn’t speak, but the stiff way she crosses her arms betrays her embarrassment. Hezri, ever composed, rests his arm casually on the tub’s edge, his voice smooth but suddenly firm.

  HEZRI:

  "Don’t waste it. That money isn’t just a reward—it’s a tool."

  The mood shifts slightly. His gaze sharpens, cutting through the bath's steam like a sermon through silence.

  HEZRI (cont’d):"Use it to appeal to your congregations. Build something. Start with what they already trust—your faces, your voices. Then reshape the message. Quietly. Gradually."

  Jenna lowers her eyes, her mind clearly racing. Elke exhales through her nose, cheeks still warm, but there’s a new weight in her expression now. A sense of responsibility.

  JENNA:"You want us to lead them… without leading them."

  HEZRI: (nodding)

  "I want you to show them freedom… wrapped in scripture they still recognize. Give them a softer faith. One that will not fight us."

  Zara smirks and heads toward the door, tossing over her shoulder: