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As the bridge built, the refrain echoed off the rafters. In that moment, Elias realized he had been waiting for a future peace, forgetting that the presence he craved was accessible right now. The music became a bridge. He felt the numbness crack. The "consumed" state wasn't about losing himself; it was about being found by something far greater.

Elias sat in the back pew, the wood cool against his palms. For months, he had carried a silence that felt heavier than grief—a numb, hollow space where his passion used to be. He had come to this recording session not as a worshiper, but as a man looking for a reason to breathe again.

The light in the old sanctuary didn't just feel like a physical presence; it felt like an invitation.

On stage, Kim Walker-Smith stood near the microphone. There was no fanfare, just a quiet nod to the band. As the first notes of began to swell, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It wasn't about the melody; it was about the hunger.

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