[Elias's POV]
I drifted awake to the low murmur of voices threading through the stale air of the shack. Familiar voices. My brother. His friends. My… replacements.
The thought settled like a stone in my chest, heavy and unmovable.
These past few days have been nothing short of exhausting. The rift between my brother and me—once small enough to ignore—has widened into something vast, an ocean of unspoken words and misunderstandings.
He doesn't see me anymore, not truly. He looks at me like I'm someone else, someone unfamiliar, someone wrong. In truth, I suppose he feels just as much a stranger to me as Father Gideon ever was.
No… perhaps even more so.
I shift under the thin blanket, my thoughts sluggish, my mind wrapped in something thick and hazy, like a fog rolling in over the sea. It's strange. Ever since Father Gideon took me under his wing, I've felt… different. There's a softness to my memories now, a blurring around the edges, as if someone has run their fingers through wet paint, smearing the colors until I can no longer make out their original shape.
My memor—
Wait.
What was I just thinking about?
Something pressing, something important, but as soon as I reach for it, it slips away, vanishing into the mist of my mind. My fingers twitch against the rough fabric of the cot, frustration prickling at my skin.
Oh. Right.
Father Gideon.
He promised me something today. A reward. He says my progress has been spectacular. That I am ready.
A small, shivering thrill courses through me at the thought.
'Yes… I should be grateful.'
'Shouldn't I?'
My thoughts drifted like leaves caught in a restless current, slipping from one to another before sinking into the depths of my mind. I let them pass, let them swirl and scatter—until the voices around me cut through the fog.
They were reading something. A diary, I realized. But before I could process the words, Talia's voice sharpened, thick with something raw and trembling.
"They slit her throat… They slit her throat like she was nothing, like she wasn't even there."
The words slammed into me like a fist to the chest.
Slit her throat?
My mind reeled, stumbling over the thought like a broken marionette on tangled strings. What is she talking about? Who? Are they telling scary stories to pass the time? Playing at ghosts and monsters like children whispering in the dark?
The thought came and went like a flickering candle, extinguished before I could hold onto it. The rest of their conversation melted into a distant hum, words slipping past me like water through cupped hands. They were speaking, but their voices blurred, disjointed, almost foreign—like a language I had never learned, yet one I should have understood.
I lay still. Listening. Waiting. Wondering.
Then—
"So? What's the plan, Rowan?"
My brother's voice. Familiar yet distant, like an echo bouncing off stone walls. A pause. The sound of him thinking. Then—
"In three days' time. At night. Through the sewer system I mapped out before. Gather resources, but don't draw suspicion. You know what happens to those who do… Just ask our diary boy."
Silence.
Then a muttered response, Tobias's voice hollow, stripped of its usual bite.
"Alright, alright, captain."
I felt my heartbeat stutter, a rush of something cold and sharp seizing my chest.
They're leaving.
The thought was a stone dropped into deep water, sending ripples through my mind, each one birthing another, and another, and another. A thousand questions clawed their way into my skull, screaming for attention.
I can't let this happen.
I won't let this happen.
---
Morning came too soon, dragging me from the uneasy clutches of sleep. My body awoke before my mind did, my thoughts still tangled in the echoes of last night's conversation. Their voices rang in my skull, sharp and relentless.
They're leaving? Just like that?
The thought coiled around my ribs, tightening with every breath. I sat up, the thin blanket slipping from my shoulders as the stale air of the shack settled over me. My fingers trembled as I reached for my clothes—ragged, worn thin by time and hardship. They clung to my skin like old regrets as I stepped outside, already knowing where my feet would take me.
The camp stretched before me, silent in the early light. Shadows clung to the corners, stretching long and thin, as if reluctant to let go of the night. My path was clear, carved into my mind by routine, by devotion. The center of camp, where the heart of everything pulsed. Where he was.
Father Gideon.
The walk was short, yet every step felt heavier than the last. My thoughts churned, cycling through half-formed questions, but by the time I reached his cabin, they had all dissolved into a single, trembling need—to hear his voice. To feel his presence. To be reassured.
Before I could lift my hand to knock, the door creaked open, as if it had been expecting me.
And there he stood.
Tall. Composed. A figure of unwavering certainty in a world that offered none. His eyes, dark and endless, found mine with the ease of a predator locking onto prey.
"Good morning, Elias," he greeted, his deep baritone wrapping around my name like a prayer. Like a promise.
A warmth bloomed in my chest, curling through my veins. Familiar. Comforting.
"Hello, Father."
As I met his gaze, something in me softened, like ice thawing beneath the first touch of spring. I thought of everything he had given me—his kindness, his guidance, his unwavering hand when I had been lost in the dark. In so little time, he had shaped me into something more than I had been before.
Hadn't he?
"Come inside, Elias," he said, stepping back into the dim light of his cabin. "I've been waiting for you."
"Yes, Father."
The words left me without hesitation, and as I crossed the threshold, the door shut softly behind me, swallowing the outside world whole.
The cabin was quiet, save for the soft scratch of parchment beneath my fingertips. It was a spacious room, considering the squalor of the slums, yet the walls felt close, enclosing us in a world of our own. The scent of old books and melted candle wax lingered in the air, a familiar comfort, a constant presence—like him.
Father Gideon sat across from me, his posture relaxed, yet composed, the flickering lanternlight casting deep shadows across his face. His voice, slow and deliberate, reached me like a thread pulling me closer.
"So, Elias… are you ready to begin your reading lesson?"
"Yes, Father." The response came instinctively, almost too quickly.
"Good," he murmured, sliding a sheet of paper toward me. "Start from here."
I lowered my gaze, willing my mind to focus on the neatly inked words. But they blurred, shifting on the page as my thoughts pulled me elsewhere—back to the night before, back to the hushed voices in the shack, to the weight of the secret I carried in my chest like a smoldering ember, burning hotter with every second.
An hour passed, or perhaps more, my stammering voice filling the cabin as I struggled through each line. Father Gideon corrected me with patient precision, never raising his voice, never showing frustration. His guidance was steady, unwavering. And then, just as my focus had begun to slip entirely, his voice cut through the air like a finely honed blade.
"Elias," he said, the warmth in his tone pressing against me like the hush of an impending storm. "I can see something is troubling you. Would you like to talk about it?"
The words sent a shiver down my spine. A temptation. A promise of relief.
I hesitated. My hands curled into fists over the paper, my fingernails pressing crescents into the parchment.
"Actually, yes, Father… it's about my brother and his friends. They… they—"
The words stuck in my throat, as if my body resisted the betrayal before it could form. A battle waged in my mind, a war between instinct and devotion. Between loyalty and the ever-tightening grip of Father Gideon's presence.
I shouldn't say this. I must not say this.
And yet—
The fog stirred inside my head, thick and consuming, wrapping around my doubt like a serpent, suffocating it, snuffing it out. The feeling of wrongness began to fade, dissolving like mist under the warmth of the sun.
Father Gideon's voice came again, gentle yet insistent. "What is it, Elias? You know you can confide in me. I won't hold it against your brother, I promise."
The words felt like a balm, soothing the weight pressing against my ribs.
"They're planning to escape," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "In two nights. Through the sewer system."
For the briefest moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossed Father Gideon's face—an emotion too quick to catch. A shadow of thought, gone before I could name it. Then, just as swiftly, his expression smoothed into something serene, composed.
"Ah," he said simply, and his lips curled into the faintest trace of a smile.
The ember inside my chest cooled, replaced with something else.
Something like peace.
---
The rest of the day passed in a quiet haze, the weight that had pressed against my ribs now lifted, leaving me lighter—emptier. The confession had unraveled something inside me, a tightly wound knot that had finally loosened, and in its place, a strange sense of peace had settled.
As evening draped its heavy cloak over the camp, I prepared to return to the shack, my steps slow, deliberate. The flickering lanterns cast long, wraithlike shadows on the dirt paths, and a distant murmur of voices rose and fell like the tide.
But just as I reached the threshold of the cabin, Father Gideon's voice, rich and steady, halted me mid-step.
"Elias, wait."
I turned, drawn back as if tethered to his words.
"Stay a little longer tonight, won't you?" His voice carried a warmth, a softness that seeped into my bones. "I have something special prepared for you… remember?"
The words curled around me, sweet as honey, wrapping me in their promise. A quiet thrill stirred within me, blooming in my chest like the first tendrils of dawn breaking through the dark.
"Something special."
I nodded, my hesitation dissolving into nothingness.
"Yes, Father."