Page 49 of The Idol

And that was the problem.

I sucked in a breath and forced my voice steady. “I’m sorry, man. And thank you.”

A longer pause. Then Patel said, “Check in at the regular time.”

When the line clicked dead, I stared at the phone a moment longer, my pulse still thudding too fast, my mind shifting gears in a clunky, uneven grind.

I’d risked the entire operation because I had been too busy fantasizing about the fucking cult leader’s son.

The desire felt poisonous.

And it was only growing.

I shoved the phone back into my boot, stood, and smoothed my expression into something calm.

Logically, I knew that I needed to stop this thing with Elior and refocus on my mission, but that wasn’t going to happen.

I just needed to learn how to balance the two.

* * *

I’d noticed last time that confession night carried a strange energy—something taut and humming in the air, like a collected breath the entire compound held at once. People lined up in front of the chapel’s entrance with contrite faces, whispering prayers, hands folded, their eyes down.

And I ignored every single one of them, instead picturing Elior on his throne, shoulders tense, posture stiff, bracing himself for hours of whispered sins, tears, and trembling voices.

I kept my expression neutral as I sat on the wooden bench on the porch of the small schoolhouse—far enough away to avoid interacting with the congregation, but close enough to keep an eye on the line. One by one, the members entered the chapel to confide in their savior. Some spent just a few minutes, others longer. And one by one, they emerged back out, to have their place replaced by the next. Some came out crying, some expressionless, some whispering silent thanks to the night sky, like Elior had personally saved their souls.

Every time the doors opened, I felt it like a tug in my bones.

Soon it would be my turn.

But not yet.

I waited.

The first hour passed, then the second, and the line out front of the chapel thinned out until only the stragglers remained. A few glanced at me, probably wondering why I wasn’t queuing with the others, why I wasn’t eager to unload my supposed sins.

Let them wonder.

I was content to sit there and wait.

Finally, the last congregant stepped inside. As the door clicked shut behind him, I rose to my feet and made my way over.

A few minutes later, the man who’d been inside opened the door to leave. I gave him a polite nod as he held the door for me.

Once the door clicked shut behind me, I walked down the aisle, letting the quiet heighten the anticipation curling in my chest.

Elior looked exhausted as he straightened in the Seat of Light. I saw the moment he realized it was me, his eyes widening and cheeks flushing.

I was tempted to tell him that everyone else was done, and now he was mine for as long as I wanted to keep him.

At the foot of his carved throne, I fell to my knees.

I bowed my head, not out of reverence, but to hide the sharp pull of satisfaction that rose in my chest at the sight of him—spent, overwhelmed, and still sitting up straight because he believed he had to.

I knew he’d be more vulnerable like this.

He didn’t speak at first.