As soon as Fa'afili sent the bar of soap through the crack in the door, it was taken by the priest's spindly fingers.

"Thank you," Malachi offered in exchange, looking over the soap.

What kind was this? He unwrapped it and brought it to his nose.

It would have been preferable to have washed up practically anywhere else but here, with a man standing just outside the door and another one likely robbing his supposed church. If this was any indication of what his time in Whitby was going to be like, it would be best to excuse himself now and rethink his entire approach. God, he didn't want another situation like the last church he'd watched over.

All things he considered as he hurriedly washed up, grateful for the distraction it provided his hands.

"Good soap," he commented after, sounding distant. Malachi cracked the door a little wider to look out, ears trained for any sound that might have told him to shut it again. In a whisper, he inquired, "has he left yet?"