I wanted to know if he still looked wild, or if he looked worried, or if he couldn’t bear to watch.
I wanted someone—anyone—to tell me this meant somethinggood.
That the Light heard me.
That I wasn’t suffering for nothing.
But no one touched me. No one comforted me. No one held me except the men restraining me.
Father lifted his arm for the last time.
The tenth lash fell.
A sound tore from my throat—raw and broken—and immediately drowned beneath the congregation’s collective gasp.
“Ten,” Father said calmly.
Brother James and Brother Paul released me at once, and without their grip, I folded forward, unable to catch myself on my palms. My cheek hit the coolness of the floor. My breath shuddered violently out of me. My entire body trembled like a leaf in a storm.
Behind me, Father announced, “The Vessel has done his sacred duty. Let the Light’s mercy be known.”
I didn’t feel sacred.
And as I knelt there, chest heaving, vision swimming, I couldn’t help wondering—
If the Light was so merciful…
Why did it hurt this much?
12
Jace
I was going to fucking slaughter that man.
I couldn’t stop seeing it.
Didn’t matter where I went or what I tried to focus on—it all blurred under the same image burned into the back of my eyes.
Elior on his knees.
Shaking, with spots of red blooming through his torn white robe.
Held down like he was something dangerous instead of the gentlest creature I had ever known.
I’d left the chapel as soon as Father dismissed us, because I’d been seconds—seconds—from doing something unforgivable in the eyes of the FBI. My hands still tingled with the phantom need to grab that whip, to wrench it out of Malachi’s grasp, to put my body between Elior and those fucking demons.
But I hadn’t.
I’d stayed still like a good disciple.
I’d walked out with the crowd.
And now I was back in my room, pacing slow, tight circles like a caged lion.
I raked a hand through my hair and exhaled shakily.
Every time I blinked, I saw Elior’s pain.
