Chapter 13 Jace
Jace
“Bye, Elior. I’ll see you next week.”
I raised my head, abandoning the frustrating news story I’d been reading on my phone. Elior was walking towards me, the door leading from the waiting room to Mark’s office softly shutting behind him.
“Hey, baby,” I said, standing from my seat and pulling him in for a hug. “How’d it go?”
He let me hold him, but his arms didn’t come up right away. His cheek rested against my shoulder.
“Okay,” he murmured.
Not good. Not fine. Just okay.
I kissed the top of his head and didn’t push. “Yeah?” I asked gently.
He nodded once, then pulled back. His face was composed—no red eyes, no trembling mouth—but the light was dimmer behind his gaze.
Every time he came out like this, I knew who they’d talked about.
Malachi.
“Let’s go,” I said, keeping my voice easy. “Do you still want to stop by the bakery? It’s okay if you just want to head straight home.”
“I don’t know…” Light blue eyes peeked up at me, silently asking for me to decide for him. Sometimes even the smallest of decisions could overwhelm him, especially if he was already mentally exhausted from speaking about his father.
It wasn’t just his father, either. It was sorting through the rubble of a shattered belief system, wondering whether there had ever been any truth in it at all.
It was coming to terms with the fact that all the punishments enacted against him and the other members of the Covenant had never been justified—just abuse.
And he didn’t even have any idea about the worst of it yet.
I was scared of very little.
But I was terrified of losing him.
It was only a matter of time before the Bureau would release its findings to the public. I knew I needed to tell him before that happened, but I just…
How was I supposed to tell this sweet boy that they had found nine sets of human remains under the dirt he’d grown up walking on?
How was I supposed to tell him what the forensic medical examiner had found when examining his mother’s skull?
I shook those thoughts away for now, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and leading us out into the early afternoon air.
I would figure it out later.
“I think we should go over,” I told him, steering him left on the sidewalk. He stayed close as we walked the half-block over to the small family-owned bakery we’d made a habit of visiting after his therapy appointments.
The bell over the bakery door chimed when we stepped inside, welcoming us in. It was never overly busy this time of day, which is one of the reasons I liked bringing Elior here.
The display case gleamed under yellow lights, rows of pastries ready to be eaten.
Elior’s eyes brightened at the familiar scene.
We joined the short line near the counter. The elderly couple in front of us was debating how many muffins would be considered too many, which seemed to fascinate Elior more than it should have. He watched them quietly with a small smile.
When it was almost our turn, he inched closer, then gently nudged my arm with his elbow.
I glanced down at him. “What’s up?”
He didn’t look at me at first. His fingers twisted together in front of him. “Can you… can you order for me?” he asked softly. “Please.”
“Of course,” I said immediately, no hesitation. “You don’t have to ask.”
That earned me a tiny exhale, like he’d been holding his breath. He leaned just a little more into my side, letting me be the barrier between him and the world.
When we reached the counter, the woman behind it smiled at us. “What can I get for you today?”
I glanced at Elior. He was already looking at the donuts, eyes lingering on the ones with chocolate glaze and rainbow sprinkles.
“Just a black coffee for me, and two donuts for him. One chocolate glazed, one strawberry.”
Elior’s head snapped up. “The strawberry has the sprinkles,” he said quietly, like he was clarifying something important.
The cashier laughed. “It does. Good choice.”
I felt Elior relax another notch at that—at being heard, at being indulged. When I handed over my card, he rocked faintly on his heels, a barely-there bounce that made my chest squeeze from its cuteness.
We stepped aside while they worked on our order.
Elior took the bag when it was handed to him, clutching it carefully with both hands as if it were a precious treasure.
“Thank you,” he said, voice small but polite.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” the woman replied without thinking.
Elior flushed, ducking his head. Grabbing my coffee from the counter, I put my hand on his back, ready to get to our car outside.
We were halfway to the door when it happened.
The bell chimed as a group of teenagers piled in—too loud, all elbows and laughter and unfortunate clothing choices. I barely registered them at first.
Then one of them stopped short.
I felt it before I heard it—the way Elior stiffened beside me, the way his hand tightened on the paper bag.
“…Holy shit,” one of the kids muttered.
I turned just in time to see a boy with shaggy hair doing an unmistakable double-take, his eyes bouncing between Elior and his phone.
“Hey,” he said, louder now, uncertainty edging into excitement. “Aren’t you—”
My body moved before my brain finished the thought.
I stepped half a pace in front of Elior, angling my shoulder so I blocked him from view, my hand coming back to rest against his hip.
The kid frowned, trying to see around me. “I mean, from the news. You’re that guy, right? The cult—”
“No,” I said flatly.
The teen blinked. “I’m just asking—”
“And I’m answering,” I replied, voice calm but frigid. “You’ve got the wrong person.”
Elior’s hands trembled against my back, digging into the fabric of my jacket.
Another kid snorted. “Dude, it is him. I saw the picture.”
A girl in the back of the group spoke up. “Guys, stop it…”
“My uncle says you should be locked up like your dad is. He says you had to have known what was going on. And he’s a cop, so—”
“I would say your uncle should’ve taught you to shut your mouth, but it doesn’t sound like he ever learned that himself,” I chastised.
“Ooooooh.”
The boy’s face turned dark red from the chorus of his annoying friends.
“…Whatever,” he muttered, practically shuffling over to one of the tables.
His friends then lost interest in us, some following him and some heading to the counter.
Only then did I turn back.
Elior was staring at the floor, shoulders drawn in, fingers tightly gripping the bag. I crouched slightly so I was in his line of sight.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Look at me, baby.”
It took a second, but he did.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I told him quietly. “Okay? Not one thing.”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “Can we go now?”
“Yeah,” I said immediately, already guiding him toward the door.
He kept his eyes low as we walked out into the fresh air, sticking to me like glue until we reached my car. As always, I opened the passenger-side door first and helped him in.
I took a breath as I shut his door, the despondent look on his face making me fight the urge to go back to the bakery and wring those kids’ necks.
I forced myself to keep it together, rounding the hood and getting into the driver’s seat.
Elior sat curled slightly inward, donut bag clutched in his lap.
I didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, I reached across the center console and rested my hand over his knee.
“Jace, what are they saying on the news?” Elior’s voice was whisper-soft.
My hand tightened. “You don’t need to worry about that, baby.”
He shook his head, a small jerky motion. “I need to know. Aarev—Patel mentioned something about it, too.”
I turned in my seat, fully facing him now. “It’ll only upset you. They don’t even know what they’re talking about.”
I hated that the world kept reaching for Elior when he was already fraying, like they were entitled to his pain just because it made a good headline.
“Elior,” I said quietly, “look at me.” He did, his eyes sad and surprisingly determined. “Hardly anything they’re reporting is true. There’s no point in you seeing it.”
His brows knit together. “But what if—”
“No,” I interrupted. “This isn’t a discussion.”
“I can handle it,” he murmured, even his voice sounding unsure.
“Elior.”
His shoulders sagged a little. “I don’t like not knowing.”
“I know,” I said. “But right now, knowing would hurt you more than it would help.”
“So… I’m not allowed?” he asked softly.
“You’re not allowed.”
“…Okay,” he said, barely audible.
I hated the way that sounded—like giving up instead of agreeing.
I started the engine then, pulling away from the curb and into traffic. For a few blocks, neither of us spoke.
After a minute, Elior shifted. He opened the bag and carefully pulled out the strawberry donut, the one with the ridiculous amount of sprinkles.
He took a small bite.
Then another.
I watched him from the corner of my eye, relief threading through the anger like a thin wire.
He just needed to listen to me, and he’d be okay.
* * *
Okay, so apparently he hadn’t wanted to listen.
By the time dinner was finished, the apartment smelled like garlic and butter.
I’d moved quietly in the kitchen, keeping one ear tuned toward the living room.
Elior had curled up on the couch not long after we got home, knees tucked in, head pillowed against the armrest. He’d looked boneless with exhaustion.
I’d assumed he’d fallen asleep.
I plated the food, wiped my hands on a towel, and grabbed two forks before heading back into the living room. My phone wasn’t where I’d left it earlier on the side table, but I barely clocked that—my focus was already on Elior, on waking him gently so he’d eat something while it was still hot.
“Hey, baby,” I murmured as I stepped closer. “Dinner’s—”
The words died in my throat.
He was awake.
Not just awake—he was staring down at my phone, both hands wrapped around it like it might disappear if he loosened his grip. The screen glowed against his face, reflecting faintly in his eyes.
“Fuck.” The sound of my voice made him flinch. His head snapped up, but instead of the panic or guilt I’d expected to see, there was a hollowness behind his eyes.
He didn’t scramble to lock the screen, didn’t apologize or make excuses, didn’t even move to hand the phone back to me.
No. He just looked at me.
“I remembered your password,” he said quietly, “from watching you do it.”
He didn’t mention the news—didn’t say what he’d seen or how much. He didn’t need to. The weight of it was written all over him.
I stared at my phone in his hands, then back at his face, my tongue suddenly useless.
The food cooled on the plates behind me.