Page 88 of Illusionist
His head snaps toward me, eyes wide with new terror. “You're FBI. You have to—I have rights?—”
“You have the right to suffer,” I reply calmly. “Same rights you gave those kids and their mothers.”
“Dr. Morrison sends her regards,” Elias adds with dark humor. “She's enjoying her new position as foundation director. Amazing what happens when someone competent takes over.”
The color drains from Malachi's face. “Rebecca? But she's—how did you?—”
“She's one of us,” Silas explains. “A Sanctum survivor. Just another broken child from the Prophets' collection.”
“She remembers everything,” Marek says from the corner of the trailer. “The choosing ceremonies. The punishment rooms. The way Prophets made children complicit in each other's suffering.”
Malachi begins shaking his head frantically. “That was different. That was discipline. Structure. We were saving their souls?—”
“You were destroying them!” Logan explodes, stepping forward with violence radiating from every line of his body. “You destroyed us! Murdered Zach! Scattered dozens of kids to the wind because you were sick!”
“I loved you,” Malachi whispers. “All of you. I was trying to prepare you for God's kingdom?—”
The slap echoes through the trailer. Elias's palm connects with his father's cheek hard enough to snap his head sideways.
“Don't you dare talk about love.” Elias's voice carries enough ice to freeze blood. “You don't know what that word means.”
Malachi slumps in the chair, defeated. Blood trickles from his split lip as he stares at the floor.
Logan steps forward, lighter in hand. “I could burn this whole fucking place down with you in it.”
“Wait.” I move between them, an idea crystallizing. “He hasn't told us about the network yet. The other operations.”
Elias catches on immediately. “The complete list. Every Prophet, every compound.”
“I don't remember?—”
“You remember.” My training kicks in, years of interrogation experience guiding my voice. “Names. Locations. Financial records. Everything.”
“They'll kill me if I talk.”
“We'll kill you if you don't,” Cole points out reasonably. “At least if you cooperate, it'll be quick.”
For the next hour, Malachi breaks completely. Names pour out of him—surviving Prophets scattered across the continent, politicians and businessmen who provided protection in exchange for access. A network of abuse that spans decades and reaches into the highest levels of power.
I record everything on my phone, knowing this information will destroy dozens of operations and save countless children. Whatever legal gray area I'm operating in, the intelligence is too valuable to lose.
“Is that everyone?” Silas asks when Malachi finally falls silent.
“Everyone I remember,” Malachi says weakly.
“Good.” Elias checks his watch. “Then we're done with this part of the night's entertainment.”
Malachi looks up, eyes wild. “You said you'd?—”
Silas silences him by flashing a knife, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “We lied.”
31
SILAS
The moment Malachi finishes his pathetic confession, I see Elias's face transform. The mask of controlled civility he's worn for the past hour dissolves, revealing the fury that's been simmering beneath the surface for decades.
“Did you really think we'd honor any deal with you?” Elias asks, his voice dropping. “After everything you put us through?”
