The air in the courtyard seemed to vanish, leaving Julian gasping in a pressure of his own making, his heart hammering and thundering, threatening to break free from the cages of his ribs.
The heat that had surged from his palm was still tingling in his fingertips, a lingering warmth that felt like a brand of shame.
The child in the mother's arms wasn't just breathing; he was stirring, his small hands clutching at the grey wool of his blanket, his eyes fluttering open with a clarity that no mint oil could ever produce.
He looked healthy. Very healthy.
"A miracle..." the mother breathed. She didn't look at her son first. She looked at Julian, her eyes shining with a terrifying, fanatical light. "The Saint… the Saint has touched him and healed him! The Saint has healed my son!"
She raised her voice so loud, like she wanted the weather to hear her chant and give way for the coming saint. She clutched her child, her eyes teary and her body shivering.
