“Copy that,” Patel said.
“Talk soon.”
I ended the call and slipped the phone back in my boot, pressing the tape back into place. For the next half hour, I sat on the bed and let the quiet hum of the place seep in. Distant sounds drifted through the open window—tools clanking, children laughing faintly, the occasional murmur of voices carried on the wind. It all felt so normal, like a small rural community.
When the knock came, it was soft but firm. “Brother Jace?”
I stood and opened the door. Gabriel stood there, smiling. “Ah,” he said, eyes sweeping over me. “You look the part already! The robe suits you.”
I gave a polite half-smile. “Guess it’s official, then.”
“Indeed. Come along—dinner’s just begun.”
The mess hall was one of the larger buildings on the property, with long tables stretching the length of the room. It smelled faintly of bread and herbs. As we entered, a dozen or so people looked up. The chatter quieted for a beat, curiosity passing between them, before the noise picked back up again.
Gabriel led me to an open seat near the center of one of the tables. A few men around my age nodded politely. “Brothers,” Gabriel said, “this is Jace. He’ll be joining our community.”
A few smiled, a few murmured welcomes.
I sat down, and a young man to my left—pale, with a shaved head—offered me a small loaf of bread from the shared plate. “You’re lucky,” he said. “It’s fresh tonight.”
“Smells great,” I said lightly, tearing off a piece.
The meal was simple—bread, lentil stew, and boiled vegetables. Basic, but not horrible by any stretch. Nobody talked much once they started eating. There was a rhythm to it, like they all knew the order of things, the unspoken rules of when to speak, and when to be silent.
Gabriel ate slowly beside me, smiling every so often like a proud uncle. “You see?” he said between bites. “Peaceful. We share what the Light provides.”
I gave him a noncommittal nod and spooned up more stew.
Peaceful,sure.
As the meal wound down, I felt the air shift the same way it does before a storm. Conversation dimmed, and somewhere across the room, someone began humming softly. It wasn’t random; it was like a signal.
Gabriel rose and looked at me. “Evening prayers,” he said. “You can sit near the front with me.”
I swallowed the last bite of bread, wiped my hands on a napkin, and stood. “Lead the way.”
The sun was almost gone by the time we left the mess hall, the air cooling fast as night crept over the compound. I followed Gabriel to the chapel, feeling herded there by the mass of people around us.
The door stood open, a soft amber glow spilling out. As we stepped inside, I saw rows of white fabric and bowed heads.
Gabriel led us to the second row, to a spot that seemed reserved for higher members of the cult.
At the front of the chapel, beneath a large wooden carving of a radiant sunburst—their version of a cross, I guessed—stood Malachi. Next to him, slightly behind and to the right, sat Elior in his oversized throne.
He sat perfectly still, hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed ahead.
A hush rippled through the congregation as Malachi raised his hands, palms open toward the crowd.
“Brothers. Sisters,” he said, his voice clear and full of practiced warmth. “The sun has set on another blessed day. We thank the Light for its guidance, for its mercy, and for the purity it grants us.”
The congregation echoed softly,“Blessed be the Light.”
I kept my head bowed just enough to blend in, watching from under my lashes.
“The world outside,” he went on, “seeks to blind us. It lures us with false promises, with sin at every turn. But here, under the Light, we are free from temptation. Free from corruption. Free from the voices that wish to lead us astray.”
Another murmur rose from the crowd,“Blessed be the Light.”
