Father Jose Valdez

He was the last to leave the fire and the first to kneel in the ash. Never loud. Never absent. Father Elias Valdez carried himself like an old cathedral—cracked, weathered, but still standing because someone had to. He didn’t speak often, but when he did, people listened the way they listened to thunder: not because it told them something new, but because it reminded them of what was already true. Once a priest, always a priest—even if God had stopped answering. He still wore the collar. Not for show. For memory. For penance. For the dead.