The church was quiet, save for a few distant footsteps in the nave and the shuffling of folding fabrics. Malachi was still unused to such silence. Whitby was smaller than anywhere he had lived, even with all of its tourists, and he had not yet adjusted to the difference. He did not long for chaos nor the clamor of too many voices, but a church was meant to live, to breathe, to sing.

Setting aside the folded vestments, Malachi turned and departed from the sacristy. His steps were quiet, as they always were, and his hands clasped behind his back out of habit. There was only a child here, he noted, as he passed through the aisles in slow approach. A child that was... holding candles? From... right. He must have taken them from the altar. These people needed his help more than he had even thought.

"Careful," warned Malachi. "You'll burn your hands."

"Father," swiftly confirmed Malachi, unperturbed by the child's clumsy hands. The small altar, cluttered now with the returned candles, was given only a glance before his attention turned back to the boy. He was yet to meet everyone that attended services, but he was not sure that he had seen this child at all, until now.

There were plenty of things to ask him. Why he had really grabbed the candles, for one, and why he thought to lie and cover up his taking so blatantly. Instead, Malachi took a step closer and asked, "What is your name? Why are you here alone?"

Of course, the boy was here to confess. Whether Malachi believed him or not was unclear; his face displayed only his indifference for the matter. This Bram Ward hardly looked old enough to be wandering about on his own, and he was not about to turn anyone away from his church, regardless of their intentions.

Patiently, Malachi observed the child's face, and the way he glanced between the candles and the priest himself. Weighing his options, he supposed. He wondered if this Bram Ward expected punishment, if that was the risk he had to weigh before he had reached for the candles; if it was so routine that the consequences no longer mattered.

Malachi hummed, nodding once. Looking back to the altar, he said, "yes, you're right. I can look after the others."

Setting the broken candles aside, he grabbed two of the undamaged and held them out to the boy. Still warm, but not enough to burn.

"Could you take care of these ones for me, Mister Ward?"