But it sounded better than what he actually says
The man at the counter wasn’t trying to start anything. He was just waiting for his coffee, still damp from the walk in, scrolling the way people scroll when they’ve got a minute to burn and nothing in particular to find, when he stopped and read the line out loud, almost like he was testing how it sounded in the air.
“Pope Leo said this.”
He angled the phone slightly so the woman next to him could see it—white text, black background, a small papal crest tucked into the corner in that understated way that signals authenticity without insisting on it.
“You cannot follow both Christ and the cruelty of kings.”
She leaned in and read it once, then again, her expression settling into recognition before verification. “That’s… pretty direct,” she said, not quite asking a question.
He gave a quick nod, like something had finally clicked into place. “Yeah. Finally.”
It felt right, which is what made it easy. It sounded like something a pope would say if he had decided to stop circling and just land the point cleanly, and because it fit that expectation so well, it didn’t create the kind of pause that might have led anyone to check it.
There was only one problem.
He didn’t say it.
Outside, the street still held that early-morning gray, the kind that flattens everything until the details start to reappear—the idling delivery truck, the scrape of a sandwich board being dragged into place, the slow movement of people settling into the day.