Chapter 32
Amayah and Luke sprinted down the street.
Cold air tore at her lungs as they followed the direction Darren had indicated. Snow crunched, the city blurring around them as panic sharpened into prayer.
Luke kept pace beside her. “Amayah, about Isaac—”
She shot him a glance sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m not talking anymore about Isaac. The last thing I want is for you to add my grief to your article too.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is finding the Crumps.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Luke said, sincerity etched into his words.
Her pace slowed, and she glanced around, not bothering to acknowledge his apology. “We’ve lost them.”
The street stretched empty ahead of them, snow settling over the footprints that should have been there.
“They could be anywhere,” she whispered. “We might need to call the police.”
Fear surged—but purpose cut through it.
Then her gaze lifted, an idea sparking like a match struck in the dark.
“Wait,” she breathed. “Darren said they mentioned going somewhere safe.”
Luke looked at her sharply. “And?”
“When I was talking to Eli earlier, he mentioned the abandoned church down the street, how it was safe—”
“And he said his dad used to take him there.”
“Exactly,” Amayah said. “Do you think . . . ?”
“It’s worth a shot.” He paused. “Which church building is it?”
“The old Trinity Church.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “It’s still a couple of blocks away.”
Luke stared at her for one stunned beat. “Lead the way.”
Amayah started running.
Luke kept pace with Amayah as she broke into a run, boots crunching against the snowy sidewalk, breath visible in sharp bursts.
They turned a corner, the neighborhood growing quieter, older. Houses thinned out, replaced by darkened storefronts and boarded windows. Snow glowed faintly under streetlamps, reflecting off the frost that coated everything.
Amayah pushed forward with a determination he hadn’t seen in her before.
It was raw. Protective. Fierce.
They paused at a street corner, waiting for the light to turn so they could walk across.
“You sound like you’ve been to this church before,” Luke said.
Hesitation flickered in her voice. “Yes.”
The single syllable landed with weight.
Luke’s reporter instincts prickled.
He wanted to ask why.
Wanted to ask how often.
But as the light turned, her pace quickened again.
“Amayah, what’s the connection?” he pressed. “Why that place?”
She didn’t slow. Didn’t look at him.
“I’ve been working with someone from the city,” she finally said. “Looking into the building. Trying to figure out what it could become.”
“Become?”
They reached the next block, and the church’s silhouette rose in the distance—its tall, arched windows dusted in frost, its wooden doors looming under the weight of years.
Amayah exhaled shakily. “I’m in the process of buying it.”
“You’re . . . buying it? The old church?” Disbelief scraped Luke’s tone. “Since when do you want to own a building like that?”
She turned toward him then, cheeks flushed from the cold and the run, eyes bright with something unguarded.
“It’s not what you think, Luke.” Her breath caught. “I’m turning it into a soup kitchen. A community space. A place people can go when they’ve got nowhere else.”
His mind stuttered.
A soup kitchen.
She kept going, words tumbling out now, the dam finally cracked.
“I’ve been trying to keep it quiet until everything’s set.
It’s early—too early. I didn’t want to make promises before I could keep them.
” Her voice thinned, but she forced it steady.
“I didn’t start this influencer thing to make money or take shortcuts.
I started it because people matter. And that place—” Her voice broke just a little.
“That place could become hope for people who don’t have any. ”
Luke just stared at her.
Hard.
Because this didn’t fit Linda’s narrative.
But this fit exactly into Amayah’s character.
Suddenly, everything made sense. The real estate deal. The redecorating request. The whispered phone calls.
Warmth fought its way up his throat—part admiration, part guilt.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asked.
Her eyes flicked away as she continued forward. “I didn’t want to. Not until I was sure. There have been too many hoops to jump through. Too many reasons why this might fall through.”
Up ahead, the old church loomed larger—cracked stone, boarded side windows, snow-dusted steps leading to those massive wooden doors.
A faint light flickered inside.
Amayah’s breath hitched. “They’re here.”
Luke followed her gaze, pulse tightening.
Whatever was behind those doors . . . it was about to change everything.
They reached the bottom step.
Luke touched her arm gently. “Let’s go.”
Together, they stepped toward the entrance.