“What?!” Father roared, rushing out of the room with the man on his heels. I listened as theboom, boom, boomof their footsteps landing on the hardwood got fainter, stopping only as they left out the front door.
18
Elior
For a long time, I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
The world had collapsed into a tight, throbbing point of pain—my ribs aching with every shallow breath, my cheek sticky against the wooden floor, my limbs drawn in instinctively, uselessly, trying to protect what couldn’t be protected anymore.
Father’s footsteps—his frantic retreat down the hallway—had long faded, but the echo of them stayed, ricocheting in my skull.
The house was too quiet now. Wrongly quiet, but a different kind than how it’d been when I first walked in. That was tense, and silent, yes, but with a sort of electric thrumming coursing through the air. This felt more like a graveyard.
Even through the haze clouding my thoughts, I knew the compound never went silent like this. Even at night, I never felt like I was truly alone. Even if I couldn’t see them or hear them,I somehowfeltthe community sleeping in their beds, or getting up for a glass of water, or saying one last prayer in the dark.
Even stranger was that it was still daytime. There should’ve been voices all over the compound, doing chores, teaching lessons.
For a second, I wondered if the Day of Burning had come.Had everyone been whisked away to the New Kingdom without me? Had I been left here alone because Father was right, and I was full of rot? Had he known? Was that why he was trying so hard to purge it from my body?
But then, interrupting my spiraling thoughts, a distant shout cracked through the stillness. It wasn’t Father, or any other voice I recognized.
Another shout followed—louder and commanding.
My heart lurched painfully.
I scrunched tighter, my instincts screamingdon’t move, don’t breathe, don’t exist,but the noises kept swelling—the thud of boots, a child’s terrified wail, a man shouting Father’s name, another telling him to get on the ground.
The ground shook.
The floor vibrated beneath me, tiny tremors rolling into my bones.
Something was happening. Something big. Something terrifying.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, trembling, before survival—or fear, or something nameless—finally pushed me to move. My body protested instantly, pain slicing through my back, my side, and all the tender welts Father had left. A choked sound escaped me, but I forced my limbs to unknot.
I pushed myself upright.
The room tilted, so I held onto the edge of a chair until the spinning eased.
Shouts echoed again—closer this time.
“Hands where I can see them!”
“Move to the courtyard—now!”
“Secure the perimeter!”
“Check the other buildings!”
These weren’t the voices of our brothers. These weren’t the rhythms of prayer or the cadence of Father’s authority.
These were strangers. Strangers with barked orders and urgency and an unknown purpose.
The punishment had left me slow, dizzy, and unsteady, but fear carried me through the doorway and into the hall.
The front door—left open—beckoned me forward.
