Page 61 of His Elder

Somewhere across the city, Eli sat alone in a conference room, waiting for a flight that would take him home in disgrace. Waiting to face a disciplinary council that would excommunicate him. Waiting to lose everything.

Because of me.

Because he'd loved me enough to lie.

That night, I lay in the unfamiliar bed and stared at the ceiling.

Kempton snored softly across the room. The streetlight outside cast shadows on the wall—shifting, restless shapes that reminded me of nothing.

I thought about the sketchbook Kempton had confiscated. The drawings of me—sleeping, studying, praying. The evidence of Eli's "obsession."

But I'd seen his face when he drew. The softness in his eyes. The small smile that tugged at his lips when he captured something just right.

He hadn't been documenting a conquest. He'd been trying to hold onto something beautiful in a mission that had given him nothing but loneliness and shame.

He'd been drawing hope.

And I'd let them take it from him.

I rolled onto my side, facing the wall. Pressed my fist against my mouth to muffle the sob building in my chest.

President Dalton had said there was a path forward for me. A way to salvage my mission, my future, my family's expectations.

All it required was accepting the narrative. Playing the victim. Letting Eli be destroyed so I could be saved.

I thought about the last look we'd shared in the hallway. The way he'd memorized my face like he was saying goodbye.

He'd known what he was doing. Had chosen it deliberately.

Had loved me enough to sacrifice everything.

The least I could do was survive it.

Even if survival felt like drowning.

18

SAMUEL

The first week with Kempton felt like living inside a tomb.

We woke at 5:30. Knelt for prayer—Kempton's voice sonorous and certain, mine hollow. Studied scriptures until breakfast. Left the apartment at exactly 7:00 and worked until 9:00 at night, breaking only for meals and the occasional teaching appointment.

Kempton monitored everything. How long I spent in the washroom. Whether I looked at women on the street. If my prayers sounded sincere enough, broken enough, repentant enough.

"You're doing well," he said after the first week. "I can see the Spirit returning to your countenance."

I nodded. Said nothing.

Because the truth was I felt nothing. No Spirit. No warmth. No conviction.

Just emptiness where Eli used to be.

The second week, Kempton took me to visit the Moreno family.

Sister Moreno opened the door and her face lit up. "Elder Price! We've missed you."

"We had some companion changes," Kempton said smoothly. "But Elder Price specifically requested to visit your family before your baptism."