4

  The cathedral doors were open, as they always were in the early morning. Golden light filtered through tall stained-glass windows, casting soft colors across the stone floor. Finn guided the old woman inside, the squeaking cart echoing faintly behind them. The scent of incense lingered in the air—warm, calming.

  Father Ben looked up from arranging candles near the altar. He was a tall man with kind eyes and a steady, thoughtful presence. When he saw Finn, he smiled warmly—but the smile faded when he saw the old woman.

  “Finn,” he said, stepping closer, “what happened?”

  Finn explained everything in a quiet rush—the dogs, the bridge, how she had been alone. Father Ben listened, nodding slowly, his expression gentle.

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  “She needs a place to rest,” Finn said, his voice more earnest than he’d expected. “Just for a while. I thought maybe here…?”

  Father Ben placed a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Of course. We’ll find her a safe room and something warm to eat. Thank you for bringing her here. Not everyone would.”

  Finn let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I’ll come back later, after school. I promise.”

  As Father Ben led the woman toward one of the side rooms, he said her name softly—but the sound was swallowed by the hall. The old woman paused. She turned to look at Finn, her eyes clearer now than before.

  “You… your name is Finn?” she asked.

  Finn blinked. “Yes, that’s right.”

  Her hand reached into her pocket, trembling but deliberate. She pulled out a small ring—rusted with age, yet intricately carved, patterns swirling like stars or leaves. Despite its wear, it held a quiet, mysterious beauty.

  “For you,” she said. “To remember today.”

  Finn hesitated, touched but unsure. “Only if you tell me your name too.”

  She smiled, small and warm. “Alice.”

  Finn slipped the ring into his pocket. “I’ll see you soon, Alice.” Then he turned and ran for school.