He clicked.
As he paid, the cashier smiled. “This one changed my life,” she said.
He didn’t call it a coincidence. He called it the harvest of honour.
Flipping to the introduction, he read a line that felt like a slap and a hug at once: “Never seek the word in the place of dishonor. Stolen manna has no anointing.”
That night, his phone rang. A job interview. The first in months.
He slumped back in his chair, the weight of his desperation pressing down on him. He had wanted breakthrough, but all he had found was a trap.