The boat bumps gently, then continues.
“There are things,” I say more quietly, “that were done to us that don’t belong in stories. Things that don’t need names to leave scars.”
Jules swallows hard but doesn’t interrupt.
“Some of my brothers carry those scars on their bodies. Some carry them in how they flinch. How they can’t be touched. How they break when they’re alone.” I look at her then, really look. “None of us walked away whole.”
The tunnel begins to brighten, a heart-shaped arch glowing faintly ahead.
“So when we hunt them,” I finish, my voice low and steady, “we’re not murdering men. We’re ending Prophets. We’re burning rot at the root.”
The boat slows. Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
Finally, Jules speaks. “You were children,” she says hoarsely.
“Yes,” I reply. “We were.”
I reach out, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse.
“And they taught us exactly how monsters are made.”
The boat reaches the end of the tunnel, slows, then jolts softly as it’s redirected onto the track again. The same warped hearts pass overhead, their lights flickering like tired veins.
Jules shifts beside me, the vinyl seat creaking.
“You said you escaped,” she says quietly. “How?”
I don’t answer right away, wondering if the second ride in the Tunnel feels different for everyone else too. Like some of the enchantment has worn off.
“We were supposed to die there,” I say finally.
Jules’s gaze stays on me, steady. She’s listening the way reporters do when they know the truth is about to hurt.
The tunnel darkens, the water reflecting fractured hearts onto the ceiling.
“There was a fire,” I say. “Officially, candles too close to old wood. That’s what the police report says.”
I snort softly.
“Logan always did have a knack for stealing matches.” My jaw locks. “The youngest child in the commune was supposed to be sacrificed the next morning. A cleansing. The Prophets said God demanded blood to renew the covenant.”
Jules’s breath catches.
“Marek knew before anyone else,” I go on. “He always did. He heard things. Saw patterns. Cole stole the keys to the dormitories. My brothers carried as many of the kids out as they could before Logan set the fire.”
The boat drifts past a mural of smiling lovers with hollow eyes.
“I stayed behind,” I say.
Jules turns toward me sharply. “Why?”
“Because someone had to keep the Prophets busy.”
Her mouth opens, then closes.
“They were drunk on their own righteousness,” I continue. “They never thought the boys they’d broken would fight back. That was their mistake.”
I don’t describe what they did to me that night as my brothers smuggled children out. I don’t have to.
