I softened my grip, massaging slower now, more soothingly than coaxing. His shoulders sagged forward, a small, almost broken sound leaving him.
“There you go,” I whispered. “Just let go, cherub.” His breath hitched as he registered what I’d called him.
“I don’t know—” He cut himself off, shame washing over his face so quickly he bowed his head as if hiding from God himself.
I kept my hands steady with deep, reassuring strokes along the arch of his foot.
“You’re safe with me,” I told him. “Nothing bad is happening.”
He exhaled shakily and opened his mouth to say something when the soft groan of hinges suddenly twisted through the chapel.
Elior jolted upright—like an electric shock snapped him back into his body.
I didn’t hesitate.
I slid backward instantly, hands off him, posture neutral, the perfect picture of a congregant finishing a quiet moment of reflection. Elior was still breathless, eyes blown wide, his robe rumpled, his feet curling back against the stone.
I kept my expression mild. Innocent.
The door eased open the rest of the way.
Malachi stepped inside. His gaze flicked between us.
I tucked my hands politely in my lap, bowing my head like someone wrapping up the end of a confession.
“Thank you, Elior,” I said evenly, as if the last several minutes had been nothing but murmured prayers. “I appreciate your guidance tonight. Blessed be the Light.”
Elior swallowed, then forced a strained nod.
I rose smoothly, offering Malachi a respectful bow as I passed him.
He studied my face for too long—calculating, prying—before letting me by.
I kept my stride calm. Controlled.
But inside?
Inside, adrenaline flickered hot and thrilling down my spine.
I’d be back.
I waited until the compound had settled into its heavy, rural silence, until I was sure that I would be alone on my venture to the chapel.
It was a little after two a.m. when I finally slipped out of my room, then out of the dorm, and into the chilly night air.
When I reached the chapel door, I tried the handle and was shocked to find it unlocked.
My jaw tightened.
Malachi trusted his followers too much.
I eased the door open just enough to slip inside, closing it behind me without a sound.
The interior was washed in soft moonlight filtering through the high windows, long stretches of pews cast into alternating bars of shadow and silver. Every step I took echoed faintly, even with my weight distributed carefully.
I found the side door to Elior’s private rooms tucked near the altar.
I reached for the handle, fully expecting resistance.
