After dinner, Thomas wiped the last of the dishes dry and set them in the rack. The quiet hum of voices from the dining room had faded, leaving the house strangely still—like it was holding its breath.

  “Thomas,” Sholomoh called gently from down the hall. “Join me in the office?”

  He followed, towel still in hand. The office was warm and modest, lined with books, papers neatly stacked, a worn couch along one wall. Thomas sat. Ruth entered behind him, silent as a shadow, and settled beside him. She took his hand; her presence was grounding.

  Sholomoh eased into the chair across from them. “How was your conversation with Veronica?”

  Thomas hesitated, replaying the strange blend of vulnerability and heat from earlier—the way things had almost crossed a line. “It was… interesting,” he said slowly. “She was struggling with a few things I suspected might come up.”

  Sholomoh nodded. “It sounds like you handled it well. I couldn’t have expected more. You supported her—really supported her—and I know that wasn’t easy.”

  A pause settled over the room, heavy but not oppressive. Sholomoh leaned back, exhaled, then straightened with a quiet shift in tone—gentle, but precise.

  “Funny enough, this is actually a good place to begin. Emotions push us into difficult situations, especially before we understand the facts. So let’s take a step back. Let’s look at what we know.”

  He spoke evenly, without judgment.

  “You were living with your aunt in Freeport. Then you were sent back to your father in Angleton, where he worked as an electrician and handled maintenance at the apartment complex. You were there two weeks before leaving. On foot, you walked to Richwood. A police officer found you—said you were having car trouble and trying to make it back before school. He drove you to the edge of Clute. From there, you walked to the Taleskies, who hid you for a week before deciding you’d stay.”

  He folded his hands. “Is that correct?”

  Thomas nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Sholomoh met his eyes, steady but not unkind. “Let me tell you what I think happened.”

  Thomas’s breath quieted. He didn’t speak.

  “When you returned to your dad’s, something made you feel unsafe. The fact that you stayed two weeks tells me it wasn’t sudden. Something shifted—one major event or a slow buildup. I need to understand: what was the moment that made you leave?”

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  Thomas didn’t answer at first. When he finally did, his voice was low.

  “My stepmom found a poem,” he said. “In my box of things. It was buried—bottom of a folder. I was sleeping in the living room. She went through my stuff and found it.”

  His eyes dropped.

  “That was the trigger.”

  The room fell into a soft, painful silence. Ruth’s hand tightened around his.

  “The epiphany,” he continued, “was realizing my dad wasn’t looking out for me. He didn’t see what was happening around me.”

  His voice tightened. “This was after she—my stepmom—took me out to the levee. She told me that if my siblings caught me, they’d beat me up.”

  He swallowed.

  “They didn’t catch me. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t my dad who said it—it was her. And that was when I knew. I couldn’t stay.”

  Ruth inhaled sharply, then pulled him into a fierce, protective embrace—instinctive, unrestrained. She didn’t let go.

  Across from them, Sholomoh remained quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice held a new weight.

  “I’m not going to say I’m sorry. That won’t change a thing. But I bring this up for a reason.”

  He looked at Ruth, then at Thomas.

  “We need to talk about how to handle your old family. Through the organization, we can arrange meaningful work in another state. I want to know how you feel about that.”

  Thomas met his gaze without wavering. “I think that would be good. But don’t ask me to trust him.”

  Ruth nodded. “I understand that completely.”

  She hugged him again—this time longer. He let himself lean into it.

  “One more question,” Sholomoh said carefully. “Not interrogation. Just understanding.”

  Thomas straightened slightly.

  “Iona uncovered something. In eighth grade, you were sexually teased—harassed—by a group of girls. And the school knew. They didn’t intervene. Is that accurate?”

  “Yes, sir.” A pause. “But… why bring that up? I don’t think about it.”

  Ruth’s voice softened. “Thank you for being honest. I know that’s not easy.”

  She studied his face. “The fact that neither of these experiences came up with Ms. Hendrix made us wonder.”

  A beat.

  “How do you think those things shaped how you relate to others?”

  Thomas’s shoulders rose and fell. “Honestly… I’m not sure. I don’t talk about it, so people don’t know. The second thing is more confusing, because of what people expect. I didn’t even know the school saw it. That makes it worse.”

  Sholomoh nodded slowly. The air shifted again—he was preparing to pivot.

  “Thank you for sharing. Now, I need to explain something.”

  Thomas looked up.

  “The beit din was supposed to determine only one thing: whether you were trying to join this family for selfish reasons. That was all. But during the week before it, the Lodge made you a probationary member. That changed the expectations.”

  He leaned forward.

  “So when they questioned you, they went harder than originally intended. But something unexpected happened.”

  Thomas listened, alert.

  “You stood before them, and you were judged. But you weren’t found lacking. You were found to need refinement—yes—but not rejection.”

  His tone softened.

  “And considering we’ve only known you six weeks… that’s extraordinary. They advanced your status in the probationary process. No push from Ruth, me, or SBSO.”

  He paused.

  “You’ve been recommended for full membership—pending a few tasks.”

  Thomas blinked.

  “The first is to write a report on your understanding of Summa Theologica. The second is to begin training in virtues—middot. They’re still deciding which ones.”

  He gave Thomas time to absorb it. “Do you understand what that means?”

  Thomas looked down, thinking. Slowly, he nodded. “Not really,” he admitted. “But… if I remember the Hebrew right… I think I just need some kavanah in my emunah.”

  Both Ruth and Sholomoh exchanged startled, proud looks.

  “You used two words I didn’t think you knew yet,” Sholomoh said. “What do you think they mean?”

  Thomas thought. “My understanding is… ‘intentional trust.’ That I’m choosing to trust.”

  Ruth’s smile deepened. “You know… I think he gets it.”

  Sholomoh nodded. “Yes. And though emunah is often translated as ‘faith,’ the fact you chose ‘trust’ shows a deeper understanding—of what that faith asks of us.”