Page 30 of The Idol

But we were nearly done. I could feel it. Only a few more—

The large front door opened.

I straightened automatically.

A lone figure stepped inside, his silhouette shaped by moonlight and candle-glow.

My heart jumped before my mind caught up.

Jace.

He paused halfway down the aisle, like he wasn’t sure if this was the right place or the right time. His hair looked softer in the low light, and the shadows made his eyes seem even darker than usual.

For a breath, neither of us moved.

Then he walked forward.

Not with the quiet shame or trembling guilt most people had during confession. His steps were steady. His shoulders straight. He looked sure of himself.

When he reached the dais, he dipped his head politely—not the full bow that members usually did, but still respectful.

“Elior,” he said quietly.

The sound of my name in his voice made warmth bloom in my chest.

I swallowed thickly, wanting to greet him. Instead, I curled my fingers into my thighs and nodded. I was suddenly very conscious of how tired I must have looked.

He seemed confused at my silence, but knelt all the same.

The candlelight caught on the dark stubble on his jaw, on the bow of his full lips. He folded his hands loosely, not clasped tight like most people, just resting there.

Waiting.

His eyes lifted to mine.

Something fluttered deep inside my chest.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t look afraid or ashamed or desperate for absolution.

He looked like… he was studying me.

Really seeing me.

I had to inhale carefully to steady myself.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he asked.

He couldn’t be expected to understand, especially because of our talks in the mornings.

I said quietly, “I’m not supposed to. You share your confession with me, and I absorb it.”

Jace’s lips thinned at my words. “Right,” he murmured, “you’re not allowed to talk.”

I nodded, heat gathering in my cheeks. My voice wasn’t supposed to enter confession. The Vessel received. The members released. That was the rule.

Jace leaned his elbows on his knees, a casual posture that felt wildly out of place.

“Well,” he said, “I guess I’ll start with the… past.”