CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 64

EZRA

The ride home was wild. Everyone was still running on leftover adrenaline from the win — singing off-key, cracking jokes, replaying videos from the performance. Dorian even smiled a few times, which was rare enough to make Lily whisper, “Did you see that? He smiled. Write it down. It’s a miracle.”

By the time we got back to town, it was almost sunset. The moment the bus parked in front of the church, chaos broke loose. People were dragging bags, hugging each other, shouting “See you tomorrow!” like we hadn’t all just spent a week breathing the same air.

I mumbled a quick “Bye,” to Lily and Jordan, clutching my backpack like a zombie. I hadn’t slept properly in days. My bones were humming with exhaustion.

The moment I got home, I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my shoes, and face-planted into bed.

Sleep hit hard.

I didn’t know how long I was out before the sound of my door opening made me groan. “If that’s Lily, I swear—”

“Ezra.”

My eyes snapped open. Not Lily.

Genevieve stood at the doorway, crisp white blouse, hair pinned into a bun sharp enough to cut glass. Her hands were folded behind her back. She looked like she was about to lead a military inspection, not a conversation.

I sat up immediately. “Genevieve. Uh— good evening.”

She stepped in, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor. “Good evening, Ezra. I trust you’re rested enough to listen?”

That tone.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said quickly.

“Good.” She stopped near my desk, her eyes sweeping over my scattered books. “You’ve done remarkably well these past weeks. I’m proud of your effort in the competition.”

“Thank you,” I said carefully, waiting for the but.

There it was— that tiny, cold smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “However, with excellence comes responsibility. As one of the church’s most visible youth members, your conduct must remain impeccable.”

“Of course,” I said. “I—I try my best.”

Her gaze flicked to me, sharp as a blade. “Trying isn’t always enough.”

My heart started hammering. “I—I don’t understand.”

She clasped her hands. “From now on, you’ll observe a stricter routine. Curfew is 8 p.m. No calls after that. No wandering the parish grounds at night. No private visits to the priests’ quarters unless explicitly instructed. Understood?”

My stomach dropped. Oh God. Oh no.

I forced a shaky laugh. “Curfew? Isn’t that a little—”

Her eyes snapped to mine. Cold. Cutting. “A little what, Ezra?”

I swallowed. “A little… early. I mean, with studies and rehearsals, sometimes I—”

“Eight,” she said, voice firm. “You’ll adjust your schedule accordingly.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again.

Genevieve’s gaze softened only slightly, but the warmth never reached her tone. “I know you’ve been through much, Ezra. And I trust you understand how easily the world tempts those with… soft hearts.”

Soft hearts. She said it like it was an accusation.

“I—of course,” I said quietly.

“Good.” She turned to the door but paused. “One more thing. Should you receive calls from anyone past curfew—especially clergy—you’ll inform me immediately. Transparency is crucial.”

My pulse was racing now. “Why—why would a priest even call me that late?”

“Exactly.” Her tone was crisp. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Her words landed like a hammer.

She looked at me for a moment longer—long enough to make my palms sweat—then said softly, “You’ve grown, Ezra. I’d hate to see something… or someone… ruin that.”

My throat went dry.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded once. “Dinner’s on the table. Don’t be late.”

And then she was gone—door closing with that quiet, deliberate finality that always made my chest tighten.

I sat there, frozen, staring at the space she’d just occupied. My heart was beating too fast.

She knew. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe she just suspected.

I rubbed my face. “Crap. Crap, crap, crap.”

My phone buzzed.

Dorian: Are you home?

I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Then Genevieve’s voice echoed in my head— No calls after 8. Inform me immediately.

The clock read 7:58.

I swallowed hard and typed back, Yeah. Just got in. Tired.

The typing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Dorian: You’re okay?

I think so.

Another pause.

Dorian: Good. Rest.

That was it.

I dropped the phone on the bed and exhaled shakily. My chest felt tight, like I’d just run a mile.

Genevieve’s rules weren’t just strict— they were suffocating. Every word had felt like a warning in disguise.

I lay back down, staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning.

If she suspected even a fraction of the truth…

I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket up.

“No calls after 8,” I whispered to myself.

I’d follow her rules. I had to.

But deep down, I knew Dorian wasn’t someone I could just erase with a curfew.

Not anymore.