You wake in the cell. The air tastes of rust and old bread. It is dark. You are not alone.

Thomas is sitting by the wall. He is eating a piece of hard cheese. He does not look up when you stir.

"Good," he says. His voice is rough. "You finally stopped dreaming."

You sit up. Your head throbs. The stone floor is cold through your thin tunic. You look at the cheese in his hand. It is small. It is pale. It looks like a sliver of bone.

"Where are we?" you ask.

"The refectory," Thomas says. He takes another bite. He chews slowly. "Or what is left of it. The brothers say it is a place of rest. I say it is a trap."

You stand. Your legs are stiff. You walk to the small window. There is no glass. Only bars. Outside, it is night. The moon is a thin crescent. It looks like a knife.

"Who are the brothers?" you ask.

"Keepers," Thomas says. "They feed us. They watch us. They do not let us leave. They say we are sick. They say we are dangerous."

You turn back to him. He is still eating. He seems calm. Too calm.

"Did you come here of your own will?" you ask.

He shrugs. "I was hungry. They said there was food. I followed the smell. Now I am here. And you?"

"I followed the light," you say. "I thought I was going home. I was in the woods. I was lost. I saw a door. I walked through it."

Thomas laughs. It is a dry, short sound. "The door is a lie. The light is a lie. The food is the only truth."

You look at the cheese again. It seems to glow in the dark. It is beautiful. It is terrible.

"How much is left?" you ask.

"Enough for two," he says. "If we share."

You do not move. You stare at the cheese. Your mouth waters. You have not eaten in days. Your body is a hollow thing. Your mind is a fog.

"We do not share," you say.

Thomas stops chewing. He looks at you. His eyes are dark.

"What did you say?"

"We do not share. You have it. I have nothing. You are strong. I am weak. Take it."

He stands up. He is taller than you. His face is hard.

"You are not weak," he says. "You are afraid. Fear is a kind of strength. It keeps you alive."

"I am starving," you say. "I will die before morning. I know this. I have seen the others. They starve. Then they sleep. Then they do not wake."

"Then you should eat," Thomas says. "Do not let your pride kill you. Pride is for kings. You are a prisoner. Eat."

He holds out the cheese. He waits.

You take it. Your hands shake. You break it in half. You hold your piece in your palm. It feels heavy. It feels like a stone.

"Thank you," you say.

"Thank me later," Thomas says. He sits down. He eats his half. He watches you.

You eat your half. It is dry. It is salty. It tastes of dust and death. But it fills your stomach. It gives you heat. It gives you time.

You look at Thomas. He is watching you with an intensity that makes you feel naked.

"Why did you give it to me?" you ask.

"Because I knew you would give it back," he says.

You freeze. The piece of cheese is in your mouth. You swallow it.

"Give it back?" you ask.

"Look at your hand," he says.

You look. Your hand is empty. You had eaten it. But there is no trace of it. There is no crumb. There is no stain.

You look at Thomas. He is holding a full piece of cheese. He is not eating. He is just holding it.

"What is this?" you ask.

"It is a test," he says. "The food is a mirror. It shows you what you are. If you eat, you are a beast. If you share, you are a man. If you lie, you are a ghost."

You stand up. You back away from him.

"I did not lie," you say.

"You did," he says. "You said you were weak. You were not. You were hungry. Hunger is not weakness. It is a tool. You used it to make me give you food. And I gave it to you. Because I am not as clever as you think I am."

He stands up. He takes a step toward you.

"Who are you?" you ask.

"I am the one who stays," he says. "I am the one who does not leave. I am the one who remembers."

You turn to run. You run to the door. You push it. It does not move. It is locked.

You bang on the bars. You scream. "Let me out! Let me out!"

No one answers. The silence is loud. It presses against your ears.

You turn back to Thomas. He is sitting on the floor. He is holding the cheese. He is looking at you with pity.

"You will stay," he says. "We all stay. The food keeps us here. The hunger keeps us here. The memory keeps us here."

You collapse. You sit on the floor. You put your head in your hands.

"I do not remember," you say. "I do not remember how I got here. I do not remember my name."

Thomas smiles. It is a sad smile.

"Your name is James," he says. "You were a baker. You came here to find a cure for your daughter’s illness. You thought the brothers had the cure. You were wrong. The cure is here. But it is not what you think."

"What is the cure?" you ask.

"Forgiveness," he says.

You laugh. It is a broken sound. "Forgiveness? I have nothing to forgive. I have forgotten everything."

"You have forgotten your sin," Thomas says. "That is why you are here. You are not a victim. You are a penitent. The food is your punishment. The hunger is your prayer."

You look at the cheese in his hand. It seems to mock you.

"I will not forgive," you say. "I will not stay. I will starve. I will die. I will be free."

Thomas shakes his head.

"No," he says. "You will eat. You will live. You will remember. And then you will forgive."

He stands up. He walks to the wall. He leans against it. He closes his eyes.

"Eat," he says.

You do not move. You stare at him.

"I will not eat," you say.

"Then I will leave," he says. "And you will be alone. And the hunger will be louder. And the dark will be deeper. And you will beg for the cheese. And you will take it. And you will eat. And you will stay."

He turns and walks to the corner. He sits down. He folds his arms.

You wait. An hour passes. Two hours. Your stomach growls. It is a deep, animal sound. It echoes in the cell. You hear your own breath. It is shallow. It is fast.

You look at Thomas. He is asleep. His face is peaceful.

You look at the cheese. It is still in his hand.

You stand up. You walk to him. You wake him.

"Wake up," you say.

He opens his eyes. He looks at you.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"No," you say.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I am hungry," you say. "And because I am afraid."

"Good," he says. "Fear is the first step. Hunger is the second. Truth is the third."

He holds out the cheese.

This time, you do not take it. You look at it. You look at him. You see your own face in his eyes. You see your daughter. You see the fire. You see the lie you told to save yourself. You see the sin that you buried.

"I remember," you say.

Thomas nods.

"Say it," he says.

"I am sorry," you say. "I am sorry for the fire. I am sorry for the lie. I am sorry for what I did."

Thomas smiles. It is a gentle smile.

"Now," he says. "Eat."

You take the cheese. You do not break it. You hold the whole piece. You eat it. It tastes of salt. It tastes of blood. It tastes of release.

You swallow.

The cell is gone.

You are in a field. It is morning. The sun is warm. The grass is green. You are kneeling in the dirt. Your hands are covered in mud.

Thomas is standing over you. He is wearing a robe. He is holding a basket of bread.

"James," he says. "Wake up. It is time to go home."

You stand up. You brush the dirt from your knees.

"Where is the cheese?" you ask.

Thomas looks at you. He looks confused.

"What cheese?" he asks.

You look at your hands. They are clean. They are strong.

"I do not know," you say.

"Come," Thomas says. "The bread is warm. We must eat before we travel."

You follow him. You walk to the table. There is a loaf of bread on the table. It is golden. It is fresh. It smells of yeast and honey.

You sit down. Thomas breaks the bread. He gives you a piece.

"Thank you," you say.

"You are welcome," he says.

You eat the bread. It is good. It is real. It is not a mirror. It is not a test. It is just food.

You look at Thomas. He is smiling.

"Are you well?" he asks.

"Yes," you say. "I am well."

"Good," he says. "Then we can go."

You stand up. You look at the field. It is vast. It is open. It is free.

You take a step. You take another step. You walk toward the road. You walk toward home. You do not look back.

The sun rises higher. The light is bright. It is warm. It is real.

You are hungry. But you are not starving. You are alive. But you are not free. You are James. But you are not the man who burned. You are the man who ate. You are the man who stayed. You are the man who remembered.

You walk. The road stretches out before you. It is long. It is hard. It is real.

You eat the bread. You swallow. You walk.

The past is gone. The future is here. The present is enough.

You are home.