It didn’t even feel like Nebraska anymore. It was all so uncanny. The whole place looked stuck in time—houses built by hand, no power lines in sight, no hum of generators or the ringing of phones. Just the wind scraping through the trees and the faint creak of the chapel door swinging open ahead.
“Isn’t it peaceful here?” Malachi asked, tone soft but full of pride.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing my voice not to crack. “Peaceful.”
It was peaceful in the same way a graveyard was. But death was the ultimate peace, after all.
We passed through a small courtyard toward the chapel, passing by a few members sitting in a circle, heads bowed, whispering what sounded like prayers. When I made eye contact with one of them, I nodded and offered her a polite smile. She flinched, eyes darting to Malachi, who continued on without acknowledging any of his people.
That didn’t seem verycharismatic cult leaderof him.
I adjusted my collar and took a steadying breath. My hidden microphone was still transmitting, but it wasn’t much comfort out here. If things went sideways, backup wouldn’t reach me for at least twenty minutes.
Malachi paused at the chapel doors, placing a hand against the wood. “You’ll meet him now,” he said softly. “The Vessel. The Lord’s chosen conduit. But before you go in, there are a few… rules, I guess you’d say.”
I swallowed, prepping myself. I gave him a short nod and a wary smile. “Of course. I’m honored to meet him, so whatever you need me to do.”
He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. You’re a good man, Jace.” He patted my shoulder witha heavy hand. “Just be considerate of his holy position, and I’m sure you’ll do well. You can speak to him, but be respectful—he is our Light, after all. And don’t expect a response back. He does not speak as the people speak.”
“Will you be coming in with me?” I asked.
“Oh yes. Only our congregation can visit him in private. Safety concerns and all that. You get it, don’t you?”
“A hundred percent. You need to protect your own,” I answered.
Malachi hummed and smiled at me as he pushed the door open, letting a rush of cool air out. My first glimpse inside was pure candlelight and shadows.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I was able to faintly make out a dais at the other end of the church. Taking a step forward, then another, a large throne-like chair, carved out of stone, took my breath away.
For a brief, almost unnerving second, my surroundings faded away, and I forgot all about the cult leader at my back.
Sitting on the stone seat, dwarfed by its size, was a young man.
He wore a white robe like the others, but his seemedgrandersomehow. His bare feet hung in the air, his heels lying against the base of the throne. It was like he’d been placed there. It was apparent he was too short to get up and down from the thing on his own.
Golden light illuminated him, making his light blonde hair glow like his very own halo.
And I mean—holy fuck.
I’d never been equally so attracted and so unsettled by a person.
My silence must have confused him, as he lifted his head and glanced at me, those curious blue celadon eyes making my breath stutter.
Malachi cleared his throat before walking forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me.
“Elior, my son, this is Jace. I’ve brought him here today to show him our way of life. He’s interested in our faith and community. You may offer a greeting.” I opened my mouth to speak, not realizing Malachi hadn’t been talking to me, but before any words came out, a soft, quiet voice reached me.
“Hello,” Elior said.
I blinked, thinking back to just a minute ago when Malachi had told me that his son would not speak to me. Hesitantly, I replied, “Hello.”
Elior’s lips quirked up just barely, like he was trying to hide his sweet smile.
From beside me, Malachi said, “He doesn’t usually talk to anyone except for me, but I always feel an exception is necessary for new faces.”
For a second, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I’d read enough reports, enough horror stories about this place, to know I should’ve been focused on the danger—the manipulation, the control, the twisted power dynamics Malachi had built here.
Seeing him like this, Elior didn’t look like a cult’s divine idol. He just looked like a boy. His cheeks were soft and flushed pink from the candlelight, and were the kind of plump that made you think of innocence and joy. A light dusting of freckles crossed his button nose, and when he blinked, it was with the wide-eyed confusion of someone who didn’t get out much.
