The opening chords of "No Weapon" began to fill the quiet space. Fred Hammond’s voice, smooth yet grounded in a deep, unshakable authority, began to pulse through the speakers. “No weapon formed against me shall prosper...”

But as the song transitioned into its bridge, the tempo shifted. The choir rose behind Hammond, a wall of vocal strength that seemed to push back against the shadows of the empty room.

The music started again. He wasn't a man retreating from a fight anymore; he was a man walking through one, knowing the victory was already written in the lyrics of his life.

Marcus walked out of the church ten minutes later. The sun was setting, painting the sky in defiant oranges and purples. He still had to call the landlord. He still had to find a job. But as he started his car, he hit the back button on the CD player.