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The sea fog rolled in thick enough to swallow the white lines, and Irmã Beatriz walked the churchyard with a thermos in one hand and an old rosary in the other. The town slept, save for the low hum of distant traffic on the coastal ribbon everyone called "2 Drive" — a stretch of asphalt that had more names than it had lights. It was on that road, in the bone-deep hour just before dawn, that a car found God and burned a question into its steering wheel.
He doesn’t want to fight a demon. He wants to serve lunch and fix a broken cross. His hesitation is the friction the film needs. Without Frenchie’s skepticism, Irene’s drive would be boring. With it, we understand the cost of faith. To drive forward in the dark, you have to be willing to lose the people who refuse to step on the gas.