Page 97 of The Idol

“T-thank you.”

His eyes lingered on my face—too long, too scrutinizing. I felt utterly transparent under that stare.

“Walk with me,” he said.

I followed him into the sanctuary, anxiety buzzing under my skin. I kept my gaze on the floor, but I could feel Father’s attention skimming over me in intervals.

He stopped toward the back of the chapel, gesturing at the empty pew at his side. We sat down, the old bench creaking underneath us.

“You’ve seemed… different,” he said quietly, “ever since you took that Silas’s boy’s punishment.”

My throat tightened. “I’ve been trying to be better,” I whispered. “To serve you properly.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

My fingers fidgeted with my robe.

“Is there something you wish to confess?” he asked.

I froze.

My lungs barely expanded as I tried to think, to sift through possible meanings, to hear the exact tone he’d used.

It wasn’t angry or disappointed.

No. It was hungry.

He wanted to hear something specific. And he was waiting to see if I would offer it willingly.

“No, Father,” I murmured. “I have nothing to confess.”

For a long moment, he only watched me—eyes narrowing, breath steady, mind working. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Very well. I’ll take you at your word.” His voice softened, though it felt colder somehow. “For now.”

A coil of unease wound tight in my gut.

“Yes, Father. Thank you.”

“My son,” he murmured. He reached out—not touching, but lifting his hand toward my cheek, hovering there as if considering it. He lowered it before contact. “Keep yourself pure, Elior, for all our sakes. Do not succumb to the Devil and his shadows.”

“Never, Father,” I breathed, feeling faint.

“Good.” He stood, looking down at me. “Now. It is time for morning prayers.”

* * *

Father never outright said he was watching me, never hovered close enough for others to notice. Still, I felt him all the same—his gaze brushing the back of my neck whenever I left a room, the weight of his attention prickling along my spine each time my steps carried me too far from the chapel.

Every time I dared to glance up, he was there.

By midday, my nerves were stretched thin.

Daddy found me on the edge of the compound, staring blankly out at the crops blowing in the wind.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over mine.

I flinched before I could stop myself.