I stuck my head down under the blanket, as if I were a little boy escaping midnight monsters. A few hours before, I’d felt sure I would never know fear again. Or anxiety. Or doubt. But anxiety and doubt assailed me now. Why was I hearing this voice? Would I ever see Marci and Amy and Brian again? Could they ever forgive me? They had never even heard me say, “I’m sorry.” How would they ever even know I wanted their forgiveness?

I’d been a hammer and the whole world had looked like a nail, including my wife and kids. I’d pushed and prodded and intimidated and manipulated them, trying to remake them in my image. Why had I been such a fool? Visions of my betrayal, recordings of my harsh words, chronicles of my ugliness ran through my mind. It was too late. Too late.

Was there really a king? Or was he a figment of my imagination? Had my longing been so deep that I’d been fooled?

I tried to grab hold of myself—how could I even ask such questions after all I’d seen, all he’d done for me? Fear and anger and images of lust thrust themselves at me like bare fists. I became their punching bag, not knowing where they came from or how to fight them.

“You haven’t changed after all,” the voice whispered.

It was right. I was still Nick Seagrave. The emptiness I thought was gone had already returned with a vengeance. I got up, put on my coat and went out to look at the stars, desperate to recapture the feelings of warmth and security that had wrapped me like a blanket earlier in the evening.

I stared up at the sky and saw … nothing. No stars, not a single one. In the east were moonlit clouds, but that was all. I looked toward Charis, but it had disappeared. I saw faint lights, like fireflies dancing in the wind, there for a moment then gone.

I turned the other way and saw under the moonlit clouds the towering buildings of Babel, winding about like a serpent coiled to strike, for a moment holding me in its gaze. Suddenly it seemed so lovely, inviting me to return to its embrace. I heard its hissing, then turned around again. I could see no City of Light. Why had I been so sure of it before?

The chill of the night air bit into me. I shivered, longing for the warmth to enfold me as it had before. It didn’t happen. Shaken, I returned to the tent. I got back under my blanket, still wearing my jacket. As the cloud-veiled moons rose and peeked out, I watched shadows creep out of the corners of the tent, crawling up the canvas like a dark growth. Night noises haunted me—wind in the chinks of rock, water dripping, the sudden rattling fall of loose stones.