I blinked at him, caught off guard. “You didn’t,” I said quickly, though my heart rate said otherwise. “I just—I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
He smiled faintly, the same kind one might give a skittish animal to coax it closer. “I saw you leave after prayers. Thought I’d stretch my legs too. Hope that’s alright.”
“Um… Okay.” My voice came out softer than I meant it to.
For a few steps, we walked side by side. It felt strange—wrong, almost—to have someone walking with me during this time. The air between us felt charged with something I couldn’t name.
“You do this every morning?” Jace asked after a moment.
“Not every morning, but most of them.” I glanced at him briefly, then back to the horizon. “It’s how I… commune with the Light.”
“Right.” His tone was gentle, not mocking, but there was something thoughtful behind it. “You ever get tired of walking the same loop?”
I frowned slightly, considering that. “No. The Light doesn’t change, but the way I hear it does.”
“That’s a nice way to put it.”
My fingers curled against the fabric of my robe. I wanted to ask why he was here, really here—but my stomach twisted with unease instead.
I slowed, then stopped altogether. “Brother Jace,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Do you have permission from Father to be out here with me?”
He blinked, surprised. “Permission?”
“Yes.” I looked down, the words rushing out faster now that I’d started. “The members aren’t supposed to speak to me unless he allows it. It’s not…” I hesitated, heat rising to my cheeks. “It’s not proper.”
There was a beat of silence. I couldn’t see his face, but I felt him watching me.
“Right,” he said finally, his voice softer. “Didn’t mean to overstep.”
My throat felt tight. “You didn’t,” I said quickly. “I just… I don’t want Father to be displeased.”
He nodded once, looking out toward the fields. “You care about him a lot.”
“Of course,” I said, almost automatically. “He’s the Voice of the Light. Everything I have—everything I am—is because of him.”
Something flickered across Jace’s face, but it passed quickly. He gave a small nod. “Guess I’ll leave you to your walk, then.”
He took a few steps back, turning toward the path that led to the dorms. I told myself to keep walking, to continue my communion, but before I could, he glanced over his shoulder and said, quietly, “See you later, Elior. Have a good day.”
My breath caught.
He’d said my name.
I watched him walk away until he was nothing but a white blur, and only then did I remember to breathe again.
I stood there for a long moment after he left, the breeze tugging at the hem of my robe. I told myself to move, to keep walking, but my feet didn’t seem to want to.
Finally, I turned back toward the edge of the field, trying to shake it off, but my mind wouldn’t stop circling back to him. I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have made him leave.
My sandals brushed over the dirt as I walked, but I barely noticed the sound. I kept replaying the moment—how easily he’dfallen into step beside me, how his voice had sounded when he said my name. I’d never heard anyone say it like that before, like someone calling out for a friend.
I let out a quiet breath, pressing my palms together. I was supposed to be clearing my mind, listening for the Light’s guidance. But all I could hear was the echo of his voice.
I wondered what we might’ve talked about if I hadn’t stopped him. Maybe he would’ve told me about his life before he came here—what the world outside was like. I used to imagine things like that when I was younger, but Father said curiosity was the first crack where darkness seeps in. Still…
Would he tell me about the places he’d been? The people he’d met? What he liked to eat, or the kind of music he listened to? Maybe he’d laugh, and I’d laugh too.
A warmth spread through my chest at the thought, and I stopped walking again, embarrassed by the smile tugging at my mouth.
