The other cardinals present murmur prayers, but Lomeli barely hears them. His eyes fix on a small detail: a faint white smear of toothpaste at the corner of the Holy Father's mouth. A human, everyday gesture for a man who bore the weight of the entire Church on his shoulders.

Protocol is triggered immediately. The Fisherman’s Ring , symbol of his authority, is removed from his finger and cut in two with silver scissors. The conclave must be assembled. Within hours, cardinals from all over the world will begin arriving in Rome.

A Soul in Crisis

Lomeli lingers after the others have left. He kneels beside the bed and closes his eyes. For years, his prayers have been more habit than genuine faith, but now, in this silence-drenched room, he feels an overwhelming absence.

—Why did you take him, Lord? —he murmurs.

No reply. Only the sound of his own breathing and the ticking of the Pope's old travel alarm clock, still marking time that no longer belongs to him.

In the mirror, his reflection stares back. His skin is sallow, worn with exhaustion. At 75, he has spent his life within these walls, but for the first time, he feels like a stranger to his own faith.