The bell rings. Three times. Sharp.

"Is that you, Thomas?"

It is not Thomas. It is me. I am the stranger in the alley. The rain slicks the cobblestones. They shine like wet teeth. I clutch the package. It is heavy. It is warm. It is my life.

"Who is it?"

The voice is high. Thin. Tired.

I do not answer. I cannot. My throat is tight. I look at the door. The wood is black. The iron studs are dull. I have seen this door a thousand times. I have dreamed of it. I have bled for it.

"Open the door, Thomas. Please."

I step back. The rain soaks my coat. The coat is old. The buttons are cracked. One is missing. I feel the gap. I feel the cold air.

"Thomas? It is Margaret."

I know her name. I know the sound of it. It is the sound of a knife being pulled from a sheath. Slow. Slick. Final.

I look at the package again. The blue silk. The brooch. The sapphire. It is the eye of the beast. It is the heart of the court. I stole it. I took it from the dead. I took it from the grave.

"Let me in."

I shake my head. I cannot. If I let her in, she will see me. If she sees me, she will know. If she knows, I am dead.

"Thomas, I am freezing."

I am freezing too. But I am not alone. I am with the sapphire. The sapphire is warm. It beats against my chest. Like a second heart.

I walk away. The alley narrows. The shadows lengthen. The city breathes. The city is hungry.

I go to the square. The fountain is dry. The statues are broken. A woman sits on the edge. She holds a bowl. She begs.

"Coin?" she asks.

I have no coin. I have only the silk. I have only the stone.

"Give me something," she says. Her eyes are dark. Deep wells.

I open my hand. I show her the brooch. The sapphire catches the light. It flashes. Blue. Bright. False.

She does not beg for it. She stares. Her lips move. No sound comes out.

I close my hand. I walk on.

The square is full of people. They are thin. Their clothes are rags. Their faces are masks. They look at me. They see the coat. They see the shape of the thing inside.

"Look," a man whispers. "Look at his pocket."

I pull my arm in. I hide the weight.

"Where does he get it?" another asks. "Who feeds him?"

"I do," I think. I am the feeder. I am the thief. I am the ghost.

I go to the river. The water is black. It moves slowly. It carries things. Leaves. Rats. Dreams.

I sit on the bank. The mud is cold. It seeps into my shoes. I take out the brooch. I hold it up. The rain stops. The clouds break. A beam of moonlight hits the stone. It glows. It is beautiful. It is evil.

I remember the wedding. The white dress. The flowers. The vows. I gave it to her. I gave it to the judge. I gave it to the king. I gave it to God.

And they took it. They took her. They took us.

They said we were guilty. They said we stole. We did not steal. We were born with nothing. We were born with hands. And the world had everything.

"Thomas."

The voice comes from the water. It comes from the air. It is not Margaret. It is the wind. It is my own memory.

"Thomas, come back."

I stand up. My legs are numb. I walk to the bridge. The bridge is old. The chains are rusted. I look down. The water is far below. It is black. It is deep.

I could jump. It would be easy. It would be fast. It would be done.

I do not jump. I am not ready. I am not finished.

I go to the inn. The door is open. The fire is low. The air smells of smoke and sickness.

I sit in the corner. I watch the door. I wait for her. I know she is coming. She always comes. She follows the scent. She follows the guilt.

A man enters. He is large. He wears a cloak. He smells of wine and blood.

"Thomas," he says.

I look up. It is not Thomas. It is the captain. The one who ordered the arrest. The one who killed my father.

"You look well," he says. He smiles. His teeth are yellow.

"I am well," I say. My voice is flat. Dry.

"You have the look of a man who has found peace."

"I have found nothing."

He sits down. He orders wine. The boy brings it. The boy is young. His eyes are wide. He looks at the captain. He looks at me. He sees the shape in my coat. He sees the tension in my jaw.

"Drink," the captain says.

I drink. The wine is sour. It burns.

"Where is the brooch?" he asks.

I do not answer. I look at the fire. The wood pops. The embers fly.

"I do not know what you mean."

"Thomas. Do not play games. I have watched you. I have watched you for weeks. You are the one. You have the sapphire."

I laugh. It is a dry sound. Like leaves skittering on stone.

"I am a beggar," I say. "I am a ghost. I have no stone. I have no gold."

He leans forward. His eyes are hard. They are like flint.

"You have her," he says. "You have her memory. You have her love. And you have the stone. Give it to me. And I will let you live."

I look at him. I see his fear. It is under the rage. It is under the power. He is afraid of me. He is afraid of the truth.

"I will give you nothing," I say.

He stands up. He draws his sword. The steel sings. It is a sweet note. It is a deadly note.

"Then you die," he says.

I do not move. I sit still. I watch the blade. I watch the light on it. I watch the reflection of my face. It is broken. It is old. It is mine.

"Kill me," I say.

He raises the sword. He swings.

The room spins. The fire explodes. The smoke rises.

I am on the floor. The blood is warm. It soaks into my coat. It soaks into the silk. It soaks into the sapphire.

I look at the brooch. It is on the floor. It is intact. It is bright. It is alive.

I reach for it. My hand is shaking. My fingers are stiff. I close my hand around it. I feel the cold. I feel the weight.

I stand up. The captain is on the floor. He is looking at me. His eyes are wide. He is confused. He does not understand.

"Impossible," he whispers.

I walk out. The door is open. The night is cold. The rain has started again.

I go to the house. The door is closed. I knock.

"Is that you, Thomas?"

I do not answer. I knock again. Hard.

"Open the door, Thomas. Please."

I break the door down. The wood splinters. The iron studs fly.

I step inside. The room is dark. The fire is out.

"Thomas?"

I do not speak. I cannot. I am the storm. I am the silence.

I see her. She is sitting by the cold hearth. She is holding her hands. She is looking at me. Her face is pale. Her eyes are wet.

"Thomas," she says. "I knew you would come."

I walk to her. I am bleeding. I am shaking. I am empty.

I take the brooch from my pocket. I hold it out. The sapphire glows. It is the only light in the room.

"I have it," I say.

She looks at the stone. She does not reach for it. She looks at me.

"Give it to me," she says.

I hand it to her. She takes it. She holds it in her palm. The stone is cold. Her hands are warm.

"Keep it," she says.

I do not understand. I look at her. I see the truth. I see the lie.

"It is not yours," I say. "It was never yours. It belongs to the dead. It belongs to the river. It belongs to the void."

She smiles. It is a sad smile. It is a broken smile.

"Then throw it away," she says.

I look at the stone. I look at her. I look at the window. The night is deep. The city is dark.

I walk to the window. I open it. The wind blows in. It is sharp. It is cold.

I hold the sapphire over the sill. I let go.

It falls. It spins. It catches the moonlight. It flashes. Blue. Bright. False.

It hits the street. It shatters.

The sound is small. It is sharp. It is final.

I turn back. She is standing up. She is looking at me. She is not angry. She is not sad. She is free.

"Come," she says. "Come with me."

I do not move. I am tired. I am empty. I am finished.

"I cannot," I say.

"Thomas?"

"I am leaving."

"Where?"

"Nowhere."

I walk out. The door closes behind me. The lock clicks. It is a small sound. It is a heavy sound.

I walk into the night. The rain stops. The clouds clear. The moon is full. It is bright. It is white. It is cold.

I walk on. The city is quiet. The streets are empty. The shadows are long.

I do not look back. I do not think. I do not feel.

I am a ghost. I am a stranger. I am alone.

I walk into the dark. I walk into the silence. I walk into the end.