Which was exactly why I needed to be careful. For all I knew, he could be a tiny little maniac under all that plush softness. It was hard to picture, but it was a real possibility that I couldn’t just rule out.
I straightened my spine, masking my unease with another faint smile. “He really is something,” I said.
Malachi chuckled, pleased. “Yes. The world doesn’t deserve him.”
Yeah,I thought grimly,and I bet you’ll make sure of that.
Malachi lingered for a moment longer at the altar, looking up at his son like a man admiring his own reflection. Then, with a satisfied hum, he turned toward the doors.
“Come,” he said. “There’s more to see.”
I glanced back once before following him. Elior hadn’t moved—still sitting on that massive stone chair like a patron saint carved into marble. His hands rested in his lap, his expression unreadable. I wondered what he’d do when no one was watching. Did he sit there for hours in silence? Did he ever get to leave that room?
I caught myself and forced my attention back to the sound of Malachi’s boots striking the chapel floor.
The door shut behind us with a heavy thud. Sunlight hit my face again, way too bright after the dimly-lit sanctuary, and I squinted as Malachi led me down the chapel steps toward the garden.
It spread out behind the main buildings, a wide patch of green fenced in with hand-cut wood. Rows of vegetables lined the soil—lettuce, beans, squash, and tomatoes. A few women were working there, sleeves rolled up, faces flushed from the labor. They glanced up as we passed, but quickly ducked their heads again.
“This is one of our greatest blessings,” Malachi said, pride curling around every word. “The earth yields abundantly for those who are faithful. Our people eat what we grow. Nothing wasted, nothing taken that has not been given.”
I nodded, pretending to admire the rows of plants. “It’s impressive,” I said. “Looks like a lot of work.”
“The workisthe worship,” Malachi replied smoothly. “Every seed planted, every weed pulled—it’s all in service to the Light. The children start learning that early.”
He gestured ahead, and I followed his line of sight. A few yards away stood a smaller building—one-room-schoolhousevibes, wooden planks, blue shutters, a bell tied up on the porch with a length of rope. The sound of children’s laughter drifted through the open windows.
Malachi’s chest swelled. “Our school,” he said. “We teach reading, arithmetic, scripture. Most of all, we teach them how to live without corruption.”
That word—corruption—hung between us. I forced a neutral smile, although it was difficult to act like that wasn’t an insane thing to say. “They must love it here.”
“They do,” Malachi said. “They’re safe. The world out there poisons children—fills their minds with filth and pride. But here, they learn humility, order, andpurpose. Don’t you think that’s what every child needs?”
I kept my face blank. “Yeah. It sounds… amazing.”
“Amazing,” he repeated, nodding, pleased. “Yes.”
We rounded the path just as the schoolhouse door swung open. A young woman with beautiful long blonde hair stepped out, shepherding a line of maybe a dozen kids, all in miniature versions of the adult robes. They couldn’t have been any older than ten. Their hair was cropped short or braided neatly, their faces scrubbed clean.
When they saw us, they stopped and turned to look.
Big eyes fixed on me as if I’d just dropped from another planet.
I lifted a hand in an awkward little wave. “Hey there,” I said softly.
None of them waved back.
The teacher murmured something under her breath—too quiet to catch—and the children bowed their heads in unison before shuffling toward the garden.
“They are pure,” Malachi said. “Untouched by the world’s filth. We will keep them that way.”
I swallowed hard. “How many kids live here?”
“Fifteen at the moment,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “Some born under the Light, some converts who have joined us with their families.” Malachi kept walking, hands clasped behind his back, his tone conversational. “You see, Jace, our community thrives because it is simple. There are no distractions here. No lies, no decadence. The faithful work, worship, and raise their children in righteousness. It might look isolating, but it’s so freeing to be without the constant pressure to sin, like it isout there.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nodded stiffly. “It sounds like a great place.”
We walked on, the compound stretching out around us in eerie symmetry—white houses, quiet paths, eyes in every window.
