He didn’t say anything, but stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting for Agios to greet him. Of course, Agios was aware of the boy, but he was retracing the narrative of a passage he had grown to love. He is not here. He is risen just as he said . . . He absentmindedly stroked the scar along his cheek, the sign of his great failure. If he rose—perhaps I did not fail. Perhaps. When he looked up, Nicholas still stood there, a small frown creasing his mouth. “Good morning, friend,” Agios said, carefully rolling up the scroll. “I owe you an apology. We traveled too hard yesterday. I trust you had a good rest?” Nicholas exhaled impatiently. “I’m fine, Agios. I don’t need an apology from you.” Agios couldn’t help teasing him a bit. “Then what do you need, Nicholas?” The boy would have stamped his foot if he were younger, but he settled for balling his fist and hitting it against his own thigh. “I want to know, Agios. The answer to the question I asked you in your cave: Do you believe?”
