Chapter Eleven
Present Day
Grace
A puff of steam escapes with every breath. It might be mid-afternoon, but it’s only the first of March, and one of the clerics said it was going to snow tonight.
I turn toward the eastern horizon—drawn more by instinct than intention—where the pale moon is just now rising. Does Prophet know that the full moon doesn’t happen at midnight? That it’s a different time every month? That today’s moon probably reaches its apex long before dark?
My little bout of pettiness brings a hint of a smile to my face. The sensation is so foreign. I cling to it, try to draw it deeper inside me. When did I stop smiling? When did I stop feeling anything at all? And why?
The scar across my cheek pulls, and now I remember. All of it. The taste of mud in my mouth. The blood dripping from wrists rubbed so raw, I’ll never escape the ropes they used to bind me. I’ve tried to forget. But it all comes back in a rush.
And the world tips sideways.
As if she senses I’m going down a deep, dark hole, Marley, a sable American Quarter Horse, bows her head over the paddock fence and nuzzles my hand with her velvety nose.
For a blink, I see another horse caked in mud. My fingers twitch, instinctively curling into her mane. One of her braids tickles my wrist. The sensation pulls me out of the memory. I stroke up and down her nose, letting her warm breath ground me.
“I’m okay, pretty girl. Want a carrot?”
She sniffs around my closed palm, her nostrils flaring. Unfurling my fingers, I lean against the fence and wait for her to pluck the treat from my hand.
“Nova! Your time’s up!” Brother Malone shouts from the top of the hill.
I stifle my yelp. In my panic, the carrot slips from my fingers and tumbles to the grass.
“Shit.”
I realize my mistake when a heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Swearing again, Nova? Prophet ain’t gonna be pleased. It’s time for you to start preparing for the ceremony.”
Most days, Brother Malone is the one Prophet sends when they need me moved—from my room to the greenhouse, the classroom where I help the children smear fingerpaint on paper, or the dining hall where I sit at the end of a long table, barely eating, not speaking, only existing. Like a piece of furniture.
His fingers dig into the space where my neck meets my shoulder, a precise squeeze that sends white-hot pain racing down my arm. I stiffen, my breath caught in my throat, eyes lowered. Crying only makes it worse. Crying reminds me I used to be…human.
After my failed escape attempt, Prophet destroyed any illusion I’d ever be free again.
I’m almost never alone unless I’m locked in my room. During my time in the box, someone replaced the door. It’s heavier now, the hinges reinforced, and the knob completely without a keyhole. Instead, two heavy latches with padlocks secure the outside.
Brother Malone leans closer, his breath damp against my ear. I don’t hear his words—they’re all the same anyway—as my full focus is still on the moon.
The first tear stings my eye. No. Not here. Not with him.
Just as it’s about to slip down my cheek, a shadow moves in my periphery. Something shifts in Brother Malone. His hand falls away, the pressure gone so fast, my skin still burns with the sting of it.
“I’ll walk her back to her room when she’s done here, Brother Malone. Marley needs her hooves checked, and Nova keeps her calm.”
Abe crosses his arms over his chest and practically dares Brother Malone to defy him.
He never gives orders. He just…shows up.
Quietly. And when he does, the air is somehow breathable again.
I’m not safe—nothing and no one here could give me even the illusion of safety—but with him around, I’m almost… alive.
“Yes, Father Abe.” Taking a step back, Brother Malone pins his gaze to the center of Abe’s chest. “But I’m still tellin’ Prophet about the swearing. She knows it’s against the rules.”
Of course he will. Obedience here is as valuable as gold. And Prophet will dole out another punishment with a gleeful smile. I wonder what he’ll take from me? My thickest pair of socks? No. Probably my time with the children. Prophet knows it’s the only thing in this place that truly brings me joy.
Brother Malone might be top cleric, but all the men respect Abe. The older veterinarian spends his days in the barn alone—whether by choice or by exile, I’ve never been brave enough to ask—unless someone gets hurt. Then, he’s the closest thing the flock has to a doctor.
He treated my injuries after my escape attempt left me with a dangerously high fever. For three days, he sat by my bedside. Giving me fluids, cold compresses, and antibiotics. He probably saved my life.
And when I was strong enough to walk again, he brought me down to the barn to meet Marley. I didn’t want to see a horse, let alone touch one. Not after being tied to Thunder and forced to run or be dragged more than eight miles back to the compound.
But Marley is such a gentle soul. Damaged. Broken. Like me.
Abe takes another step toward Brother Malone, his voice low, controlled, quiet. “No. You’ll say nothing about Nova’s swearing. Or you won’t ride Thunder for a week. It’s the full moon. Her last full moon before the end. Hand on the Doctrine, you will not punish her for this.”
Last full moon before the end.
The reminder lands like a weight on my chest. Twenty-nine more days, and nothing will matter anymore. I’ll be dead, and Grace will be truly gone.
Brother Malone grumbles his agreement, scowling, but not brave enough to challenge Abe. “Thunder is the only horse who doesn’t try to buck me off every time. All right. You get one pass, Nova. But if it happens again…” He draws back like he’s about to slap me.
I lower my gaze to his heavy work boots and nod. After a moment, his footsteps fade away.
“Is he gone?” I ask softly.
“He’s gone, Grace.”
I’m so broken, hearing my real name raises a lump in my throat. In a feverish moment of weakness, I shared it with Abe. And sometimes—if he knows it’s safe—he’ll use it, and I remember who I used to be.
If it weren’t for him, I’d have shattered completely. The days I spent in the box after my escape attempt left me utterly without hope and unwilling to risk even a hint of rebellion ever again.
I haven’t let myself think about my life before in months.
My husband’s face is faded now. His voice…
I can’t remember what it was like to hear him say, “I love you.” Or feel his arms around me.
My friends, my family, my dog…they’ve all slipped from my grasp, dreams dissolved in the light of day.
Sometimes I wonder if any of it was real, or if I just imagined it to survive this place.
Knowing I was less than two miles from escaping the flock’s property was bad.
Realizing Brother Malone and Brother Vincent were following me the whole time was worse.
But they turned running from one of my passions to something I’ll never want—or be able—to do again. I don’t even run in my dreams anymore.
“I can give you ten, maybe fifteen, minutes,” Abe says. “One of the cows is gonna calf soon, but there’s a bit of time yet.”
My heart lodges in my throat as I rest my forehead against Marley’s. “You’ll miss the ceremony tonight?”
“No, no, dear. I’ll be back in time. It’s only three.” Abe approaches slowly, careful not to spook the gentle horse. “You won’t be alone.”
I wrap one hand around the top of the fence and ease myself down to retrieve the lost carrot. My knee pops, and the pain brings tears to my eyes.
“Abe!” I gasp. “My leg…”
He’s at my side before I fall, taking my elbow and helping me limp over to a bench next to the paddock.
“Deep breath, now. The kneecap probably dislocated again. I’ll get it back into place, wrap it up tight, and give you a shot of morphine.”
How can the one man here who seems to care for me at all be the father of the sadistic fuck who stole me from my home, my husband, my life? From the sun-drenched mornings in Austin where I’d share a cup of coffee with AJ, believing my little slice of the world was basically good and safe?
Abe crouches down in front of me. Panic tightens my chest. I hear my heartbeat in my ears.
“It’s okay, Grace. Let me see.”
I pull the hem of the white cotton dress up as far as I dare. It’s already swollen, the angle of the kneecap unnatural. My stomach flips at the sight. “I’ve been so careful the past few months.”
“Look away now,” the older man says softly. “Deep breath.”
Screwing my eyes shut, I nod.
Pop. The terrible, sickening snap as the kneecap slips back into place shatters the tenuous control I’ve kept over my tears, and the first one traces a hot trail down my cheek.
“There we go,” Abe murmurs softly. “Stay right here. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
“Hurry.” My voice cracks on the word. “If Malone comes back and finds me still here…”
Abe rushes off and the cold wraps around me like a shroud. It’s barely forty today. I rub my hands up and down my arms, the motion causing one of my sleeves to ride up. The scar around my wrist flashes in the weak sunlight, thick and pale, like wax melted over my skin.
“Time to see how fast you can run, Nova.”
Abe returns seconds before the memory swallows me whole.
“This won’t take long at all,” he says. Before I can look up at him, he jabs the needle into my upper thigh.
The hiss escapes from between gritted teeth. “You could have warned me.”
“It would have hurt more if I had.” Abe wraps my knee with an ACE bandage, then offers me his hand to help me up. The morphine is already turning the pain into a dull, hazy memory as we shuffle away from the barn.
“These ceremonies are bullshit,” he says after a few awkward steps.
“What?” I stop, certain I misheard him.
He sighs, scanning the path and the barn to be sure no one’s close enough to hear. “I loved my son once. I suppose a part of me still does. But he’s off his fuckin’ rocker.”
For the first time in more than two years, a sliver of hope shines through the despair.
Dangerous, aching, real hope. I grab Abe’s arms, tears lending a shimmer to his lined face.
“Can you talk to him? Or…help me? Call my husband. AJ Stone. He’s a Texas Ranger.
Tell him where I am. He’ll protect you.”
I knew Abe didn’t care if I followed all of Prophet’s rules, but I thought he was a believer.
His expression shutters, and he shakes his head. “That boy had me declared mentally incompetent seven years ago because he needed someone to keep his animals healthy. He won’t let me anywhere near the phones or the cars. Believe me…I’ve tried.”
The fragile sliver of hope I’d grabbed onto slices deep, then shatters into dust.
Abe starts to guide me up the gentle hill, his hand around my elbow so I don’t fall.
Tears clog my throat. I don’t want to die. This is my final fake ceremony before the end. In twenty-nine days, Prophet will drive a knife through my side. Someone will bury my body on the flock’s land, and Grace Stone will never be heard from again.
Dying will be easy. Quick. I’ll bleed out in a few minutes—or so Abe says. In my nightmares, it’s only a single flash of pain. Then vast, unending nothingness. I’m almost looking forward to it.
But disappearing forever—with no one left to remember me—terrifies me.