"You’re late."

Margaret spoke. Her voice was thin. It cut the air.

The door creaked. Old wood. It groaned.

She sat by the fire. The flames danced. They looked like fingers. Long, pale fingers. They reached for the dark.

Thomas entered. He was wet. Rain slicked his coat. The water dripped. It hit the stone floor. Plink. Plink.

He did not look at her.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"The market," he said.

"Liar."

The word hung in the air. It was heavy. It was sharp.

Thomas sighed. He sat down. He was far from her. There was a table between them. It was oak. It was solid. It was a wall.

"I bought what you wanted," he said.

"I did not want it."

"You did."

He placed the bundle on the table. He unwrapped the cloth. It was white. It was stained.

Inside was a bird.

It was dead.

It was a sparrow. Small. Brown. Its eyes were open. They were glass. They were dead.

Margaret stared at it.

"Why?" she whispered.

"It was sick," Thomas said. "It was dying. I saved it."

"You killed it."

"No. I ended its pain."

The room was cold. The fire popped. A spark flew. It landed on the floor. It died.

They sat in silence.

The silence was loud. It filled the room. It pressed against their ears.

Margaret looked at her brother. She knew him. She had known him for forty years. They had grown up in this house. Their father’s house.

Their father was gone. He had gone to the ground. The earth had taken him.

Now it was just them.

And the bird.

"Is it magic?" she asked.

Thomas shook his head.

"Did you do it?"

"I don’t know what you mean."

"The bird. It was alive when I saw it. In the yard. It was singing. Now it is dead. Did you do it?"

Thomas looked at her. His eyes were red. He looked tired. He looked broken.

"I didn’t touch it," he said. "I swear it."

Margaret believed him.

She had to believe him.

If she did not, she had no one.

She was in London. It was a big city. It was a dirty city. It smelled of coal and fear.

She was not from here.

She was from the north. From the hills. From the place where the air was clean.

But the hills were gone.

The sickness came. The sickness came for everyone. It took the strong. It took the weak. It took the old.

It took her mother.

It took her father.

It left her.

And it left Thomas.

They ran. They ran south. They ran to the city. They thought the city would save them. They thought the city had doctors. They thought the city had food.

They were wrong.

The city had walls. High walls. They kept the sickness out. Or so they said.

The city had people. Many people. They crowded the streets. They screamed. They prayed.

The city had a Guild.

The Guild ruled.

The Guild said the sickness was a curse. They said it was sin. They said it was punishment for the past.

They said the only cure was silence. They said the only cure was obedience.

Margaret did not obey.

She hid in her room. She hid her brother. She hid the truth.

The truth was that the sickness was not a curse.

The truth was that the water was bad.

The truth was that the air was poison.

The truth was that the Guild knew.

The Guild had poisoned the wells. They did it to keep the population down. They did it to keep the poor in check. They did it to keep their power.

Margaret knew this.

She had seen the barrels. She had seen the men in black coats. She had seen them dump the sludge into the river.

She had told Thomas.

Thomas had not listened.

He thought the Guild was God. He thought the Guild was safe. He thought if they obeyed, they would live.

He was wrong.

They were both wrong.

The bird on the table moved.

It twitched.

Its eye blinked.

Margaret gasped.

She reached for it. Her hand shook. She touched its feathers. They were soft. They were warm.

It was not dead.

It was sleeping.

Or it was waiting.

Thomas saw her hand. He jumped up.

"Don’t touch it!" he shouted.

"It’s alive," she said. "Look."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it’s a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"Of judgment."

Margaret pulled the bird closer. She held it to her chest. She felt its heart beat. Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was fast. It was strong.

It was afraid.

Just like us, she thought.

Just like us.

Thomas walked around the table. He stood before her. He was tall. He was broad. He was her brother.

He was a traitor.

She had always known it. But she had not wanted to see it.

He had told the Guild about her. He had told them about the barrels. He had told them about her hiding.

He had done it to save himself. He had done it to save his life.

The Guild had come for her. They had taken her to the cells. They had beaten her. They had starved her.

Then Thomas had come.

He had walked into the cell. He had looked at her. He had said nothing.

He had just looked at her.

And then he had walked away.

She had been released. The Guild had released her. They did not know why. They had been busy. They had been busy dealing with the sickness. They had been busy dying.

Thomas was the only one who had survived.

He was the only one who was still healthy.

He was the only one who could still walk.

He was the only one who could still speak.

She hated him for it.

She loved him for it.

It was the same thing.

"Give it to me," Thomas said.

"No."

"Margaret."

"No."

"The Guild is coming," he said.

"They are already here."

He looked at the door. The wood creaked again.

"Open the door," he said.

"I won’t."

"Margaret, please."

He reached for the bird.

She pulled back. She held the bird tight. She buried her face in its feathers. She smelled the dust. She smelled the fear.

"I am not giving it to them," she said.

"It’s not for them," Thomas said. "It’s for us."

"We are nothing."

"We are family."

The words hit her. They were hard. They were soft.

Family.

They had lost everything. They had lost their home. They have lost their health. They had lost their names.

But they had each other.

Or so they thought.

The door burst open.

It flew inward. It hit the wall. It made a hole in the plaster.

Three men entered. They wore black. They carried staffs. The staffs were iron. They were cold.

The leader stepped forward. He was old. His face was a map of scars. His eyes were dead.

"Margaret," he said.

"Thomas," she said.

She looked at her brother. He was standing in the corner. He was leaning against the wall. He was holding his staff.

He was one of them.

He had been one of them.

He had been their leader.

She had not known.

She had been blind.

She had been deaf.

She had been a fool.

"Give me the bird," the leader said.

"It’s just a bird," Thomas said.

"It is a key," the leader said.

"A key to what?"

"To the water."

Margaret looked at the bird. She looked at Thomas. She looked at the leader.

She understood.

The bird was not a bird.

It was a mechanism. It was a device. It was the last working piece of the filtration system.

The Guild had destroyed the filters. They had destroyed the pumps. They had destroyed the hope.

But the bird… the bird was the heart.

If she gave it to them, they would fix the water. They would stop the sickness. They would save the city.

But they would not save her.

They would not save Thomas.

They would use it. And then they would kill them.

They always killed them.

"No," she said.

The leader smiled. It was a cold smile. It was a cruel smile.

"Thomas," he said.

Thomas did not move.

"Thomas. Do it."

Thomas looked at Margaret. His eyes were wet. He was crying.

He walked forward.

He reached out.

Margaret screamed.

She threw the bird.

She threw it at the leader.

The bird hit his face. It hit his eyes.

He roared. He stumbled back.

Thomas caught the bird.

He caught it in his hands.

He looked at Margaret. He looked at the bird. He looked at the leader.

He made a choice.

He ran.

He ran out the door. He ran into the street.

Margaret ran after him.

She ran into the night. The rain was falling. It was cold. It was hard.

She ran until her legs gave out. She fell. She crawled.

She saw him.

He was on the ground. He was holding the bird. He was bleeding.

The leader had caught him.

The leader was holding a knife.

Thomas held the bird up.

"Take it," Thomas said.

The leader took the bird.

He looked at it. He looked at Thomas.

He nodded.

He walked away.

He did not kill Thomas.

He did not kill Margaret.

He just walked away.

Margaret crawled to Thomas. She pulled him up. She held him.

He was cold. He was still.

His eyes were open. They were glass.

"Thomas," she whispered.

He did not answer.

He was gone.

She was alone.

She was alone in the city.

She was alone in the rain.

She held his hand. It was limp. It was dead.

She looked at the street. The leader was gone. The men were gone.

The bird was gone.

The water was still bad.

The sickness was still there.

But the silence was different.

It was not empty.

It was full.

It was full of truth.

She had seen the truth.

The truth was that they were not saved.

The truth was that they were never going to be saved.

The truth was that she had to save herself.

She stood up.

She wiped the blood from her face.

She walked into the dark.

She walked into the city.

She walked alone.

But she was not afraid.

She was free.