Page 60 of His Elder

I said nothing.

"I tried to warn you." Kempton shoved a stack of shirts into Eli's bag. "Told President Dalton weeks ago that Elder Vance was spiritually dangerous. But no one listened. And now look what's happened."

He pulled open Eli's nightstand drawer. Froze.

"What is this?"

He held up a small sketchbook—not the one on the kitchen table, but a smaller one. Private.

Kempton flipped it open. His face went white, then red.

"Did you know he was drawing these?"

He turned the sketchbook toward me.

The pages were filled with me. Sketches of my face in profile during scripture study. My hands folded in prayer. My eyes, rendered in careful detail, with an expression I'd never seen in a mirror—soft and unguarded and full of something that looked like hope.

The last page showed me sleeping. My face peaceful, my hair falling across my forehead, my lips slightly parted.

Eli had drawn me the morning after we'd first kissed. Had sat on his bed and sketched me while I slept, unaware.

"This is obsessive," Kempton said. "Predatory. He was stalking you."

"He wasn't—"

"He was documenting his conquest." Kempton's voice rose. "This is evidence, Elder Price. Evidence of his manipulation. President Dalton needs to see this."

He snapped the sketchbook closed and shoved it into his own bag—not Eli's.

"Wait—"

"You don't get to protect him." Kempton turned on me. "I know you feel confused right now. Conflicted. That's what predators do—they make their victims feel complicit.But you're not. You're a faithful elder who was targeted by someone who had no business being on a mission."

My chest tightened. Because that was the narrative. The one Eli had created with his lies. The one President Dalton had seized on. The one that would save me and destroy him.

And there was nothing I could do to fight it. Because fighting meant admitting the truth—that I'd wanted everything we'd done. That I loved him.

That losing him was going to kill me.

Kempton's apartment was smaller than ours. One bedroom with two narrow beds, a kitchen the size of a closet, a bathroom with a broken fan.

"You'll sleep there." Kempton pointed to the bed against the far wall. "We wake at 5:30 for prayer and study. Breakfast at 6:15. We leave for our area at 7:00 sharp."

I dropped my duffel on the bed.

"Mission rules will be followed exactly," Kempton continued. "No exceptions. No gray areas. You'll be with me at all times. We'll study together, eat together, work together. I'll be monitoring your spiritual progress daily and reporting to President Dalton weekly."

I was a prisoner. A child who needed constant supervision to keep from sinning again.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Kempton's expression softened slightly—not with kindness, but with pity. "I know this is hard, Elder Price. But this is your chance to repent. To rebuild your testimony and your relationship with the Heavenly Father. Don't waste it."

He pulled out his scriptures and settled on his bed. "We'llstudy the Law of Chastity tonight. Start rebuilding your spiritual foundation."

I opened my scriptures. Stared at the words without seeing them.