The glass breaks first. Not the window. The mirror.

You are standing in the center of the suite. Floor to ceiling. Reflective. It is a mirror the size of a cathedral door. It holds your face. It holds the room. It holds the lie.

Then it shatters.

Not all at once. A crack starts at the top. Thin. White. Like a vein. It runs down. It splits. The light in the room bends. Your face splits with it.

You do not flinch. You hold the shards in your hand. They are warm. They are cold. They are real.

The door opens.

It is Marcus.

He is wearing a suit. It is black. It fits too well. He is the Chief. He is the power. He is the weight of the city on your shoulders.

He does not look at the glass. He looks at you.

"Clean that up," he says.

His voice is low. Smooth. Like oil.

You do not move. Your hand is bleeding. The blood is bright. It drops on the white carpet. It is a flower. It is a stain.

"Marcus," you say.

Your voice is rough. It has not been used in hours.

He steps in. He steps over the glass. He does not break a step.

"Did you call them?" he asks.

"Who?"

"You know who."

The press. The public. The eyes.

You look at the mirror. The pieces are on the floor. They are looking up. They are judging. They are nothing.

"I didn't," you say.

He nods. He smiles. It is a small smile. It is a knife.

"Good."

He turns. He walks to the desk. He picks up a file. He drops it on the table.

"Sit down."

You do not sit. You stand. You are the wall. You are the shield. You are the one who holds the line.

"Sit. Down."

You sit.

The chair is leather. It is cold.

Marcus sits across from you. He crosses his legs. He opens the file.

"Case number four-zero-nine," he says.

You know the number. You know the name.

David.

David who was twenty-two. David who was afraid. David who was right.

"He is in custody," Marcus says.

"You framed him," you say.

The room is quiet. The air is still.

Marcus looks up. His eyes are dark. They are deep. They are empty.

"Who says?"

"I do."

"You are tired, Sarah."

"I am awake."

"You are not."

He closes the file. He leans back.

"We are building something here," he says. "Order. Safety. We are not perfect. We are human. But we are strong."

"We are monsters," you say.

He laughs. It is a dry sound. Like dead leaves.

"Monsters have no power," he says. "We have power. Power is clean. Power is necessary."

You look at the glass on the floor. A piece is near your foot. You step on it. It crunches.

"David knows," you say.

"David knows nothing."

"David knows the truth."

"Truth is a story we tell," Marcus says. "We choose the ending. We choose the hero. We choose the villain. You are the hero. You are the shield. Do not be the villain."

"I am the shield," you say. "And I am breaking."

He stands. He buttons his jacket.

"Break," he says. "And I will bury you."

He walks to the door. He stops.

"Clean the glass, Sarah."

He leaves.

The door closes.

You are alone.

The silence is loud. It presses on your ears. It presses on your chest.

You look at the mirror.

The pieces are scattered. They are a map. They are a star.

You stand up.

Your legs are shaking. Your hand is still bleeding.

You walk to the mirror.

You pick up a piece. It is sharp. It cuts your palm.

You pick up another.

Another.

You are holding the truth. It is heavy. It is sharp. It is beautiful.

You remember the night.

The rain. The street. David.

He was not a threat. He was a boy. He was holding a camera. He was holding the evidence.

You took it from him.

You took his badge.

You took his voice.

You took his life.

Not his body. His life. His name. His future.

You did it for the city. You did it for the order. You did it for Marcus.

You did it for yourself.

You are the mirror.

You are the reflection.

You are the lie.

You drop the pieces.

They hit the floor.

They make a sound.

It is a song.

It is a scream.

It is a heart breaking.

You do not clean it up.

You walk to the window.

The city is below.

The lights are on.

The cars are moving.

The people are sleeping.

They do not know.

They will never know.

You are the wall.

You are the shield.

You are the monster.

You are the hero.

You are the glass.

You are the break.

You look at your hand.

The blood is drying. It is turning black.

It is turning into ink.

It is writing the story.

You close your eyes.

You remember your father.

He was a cop.

He was a good man.

He died in the line of duty.

He died for the truth.

Or so they said.

You open your eyes.

You pick up the phone.

You dial the number.

It is the press.

It is the public.

It is the eyes.

The phone rings.

And rings.

And rings.

No one answers.

You hang up.

You pick it up again.

You dial Marcus.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

No one answers.

You hang up.

You are alone.

The glass is on the floor.

The blood is on the carpet.

The lie is in the air.

You sit down.

You wait.

The clock on the wall ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

It is the sound of time.

It is the sound of death.

It is the sound of justice.

It is the sound of nothing.

You close your eyes.

You let go.

You let go of the shield.

You let go of the wall.

You let go of the lie.

You let go of Marcus.

You let go of the city.

You let go of yourself.

The glass is still on the floor.

It is still sharp.

It is still beautiful.

It is still you.

The door opens.

It is Marcus.

He is holding a gun.

He is holding the truth.

He is holding the end.

"Sarah," he says.

"I am here," you say.

He points the gun at your chest.

His hand is steady.

His face is calm.

"I am sorry," he says.

"I know," you say.

He does not shoot.

He lowers the gun.

He walks to the mirror.

He picks up a piece.

He holds it to his face.

He sees himself.

He sees the monster.

He sees the hero.

He sees the lie.

He drops the piece.

He turns to you.

He lowers the gun.

He walks to the door.

He leaves.

The door closes.

You are alone.

The silence returns.

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

You look at the glass.

You look at the blood.

You look at the window.

The city is awake.

The sun is rising.

The light is coming in.

The light is hitting the glass.

The light is breaking.

The light is spreading.

The light is everywhere.

You stand up.

You walk to the mirror.

You pick up the pieces.

One by one.

You put them in your pocket.

They are warm.

They are real.

They are yours.

You walk to the door.

You open it.

You walk out.

You walk down the hall.

You walk to the elevator.

You press the button.

The doors close.

The elevator drops.

The floor drops.

The world drops.

You are falling.

You are rising.

You are breaking.

You are whole.

The doors open.

You walk out.

You walk into the light.

You walk into the city.

You walk into the truth.

You are the echo.

You are the gold.

You are the break.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

You are the silence.

You are the sound.

You are the glass.

You are the mirror.

You are the lie.

You are the truth.

You are free.

You are bound.

You are here.

You are gone.

You are the echo.

You are the gold.

You are the break.