As Malachi observed the constable and the restless shame that seemed to soak through his every action, every word -- he felt his features gradually soften at the pitiful misunderstanding of it all.

A sin was a sin, no better or worse than the next. Malachi read the same bible as his fellow priests and his parish, yet found that their interpretations eluded him; he disagreed with much of what he knew was widely accepted by the church. The better path was not the widest one, nor the one that all others traveled.

"It is your choice, of course. I will not push you."

Not directly.

"But," he continued, "none of us are without sin. It is better to live an honest life, even in sin, than a false one. Consider Judas and his fate, who let his sin eat away at him; consider Paul, who did terrible things, I'm sure much worse than you -- who was still forgiven when he asked to be."

If everyone was without sin, or if everyone simply hid them away in the hopes they'd disappear -- what need would they have for confession? For forgiveness? For God? Malachi touched a hand to Crane's shoulder, and said, "I will not cast judgement either way, constable. But you are never too lost to be found."

His hand fell from the other man's shoulder, and joined his other hand behind his back again.