The rain fell in sheets. It hammered against the grey stone of the tower. The air was cold. It bit the skin.

Thomas stood by the window. He watched the water run down the glass. His uniform was damp. The wool clung to his back. It felt heavy. It felt like a shroud.

"Is he here?" asked a voice from the door.

It was Elias. He stepped into the room. His boots squeaked on the flagstones. He looked at Thomas. His eyes were red. His hands trembled.

Thomas did not turn. "He is in the cell."

Elias walked forward. He stopped a few paces away. He did not look at the window. He looked at the floor.

"Did you see him?" Elias asked.

"I saw him," Thomas said.

"Was he... was he afraid?"

Thomas finally turned. He looked at his friend. Elias had not eaten. His face was pale. His lips were cracked.

"He was not afraid," Thomas said. "He was calm."

Elias nodded. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I could not sleep."

"Sleep is a luxury," Thomas said. "We have no time for it."

Elias laughed. It was a dry sound. Like dead leaves scraping together. "You sound like the Warden."

"I am the Warden's mouth," Thomas said. "I speak his words. I carry his weight."

Elias shook his head. "No. You are his shadow. You are the thing that follows him into the dark."

Thomas felt a sting. It was old. It was deep. He ignored it. He looked at the clock on the wall. The hands moved slowly. The second hand ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"We have one hour," Thomas said.

"One hour," Elias repeated. "Then what?"

"Then the trial ends."

"Then he dies."

Thomas said nothing. He picked up a cup. It was cold. He drank. The water tasted of iron.

Elias sat on a chair. The wood creaked. He put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook. He was trying not to cry. He was failing.

Thomas watched him. He felt a pull. It was strong. It was dangerous. He wanted to sit down. He wanted to speak. He wanted to break the rules.

He did not. He stood straight. He straightened his collar. The fabric was rough. It scratched his neck.

"Why?" Elias asked. He did not look up.

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this? Why do you keep him in the dark? Why do you let him starve?"

Thomas’s jaw tightened. "I am keeping him safe."

"Safe?" Elias looked up. His eyes were wild. "He is in a cage, Thomas. He is alone. He is being forgotten."

"He is guilty," Thomas said. "The law is the law."

"The law is a blade," Elias said. "And you hold it. You cut without thinking. You cut because you must. But you do not see the blood. You do not see the pain."

Thomas stepped forward. He pointed a finger at Elias. "You are weak. You have always been weak. You feel too much. It is a defect."

Elias stood up. He faced Thomas. He was shorter. He was smaller. But he did not back down.

"And you feel nothing," Elias said. "That is why you are strong. That is why they trust you. You are a machine. You are empty."

The words hit Thomas. They hit him in the chest. He staggered. He leaned against the wall. The stone was cold. It seeped through his coat.

He looked at Elias. He saw his own face. He saw his own fear. He saw his own guilt.

It was a mirror.

Thomas had built the walls. He had chosen the locks. He had chosen the silence. He had chosen to be the stone. He had chosen to be the law.

But the law was not enough. The law did not fill the hole inside him. The law did not make him human.

"I am not empty," Thomas whispered.

"You are hollow," Elias said. "And the wind blows through you. It makes a sound. It sounds like screaming."

Thomas closed his eyes. He breathed in. The air was stale. It smelled of damp and fear.

He opened his eyes. He looked at the door. The door led to the corridor. The corridor led to the cell.

He had to go. He had to watch. He had to ensure the order was kept.

He turned to Elias. "Stay here."

Elias did not move. "No."

Thomas’s hand went to his belt. His hand hovered. He did not draw the weapon. He could not.

"Stay here," Thomas said again. His voice was soft. It was the voice of a man asking for mercy.

Elias smiled. It was a sad smile. "I will stay. But you cannot stay with me. You must be with him."

Thomas nodded. He walked to the door. His steps were heavy. Each step sounded like a drumbeat.

He opened the door. The corridor was dark. The lanterns flickered. The shadows danced.

He walked. He did not run. He walked with purpose. He walked with certainty.

The cell was at the end. It was small. It was square. The bars were thick. They were black.

Inside, a figure sat on a bench. The figure was still. It did not move.

Thomas stopped outside the bars. He placed his hand on the iron. It was cold. It was hard.

"Thomas," a voice said.

It was the prisoner. His name was Arthur. He had been Thomas’s friend. He had been his brother in arms.

Thomas did not answer. He stared at the bars.

"Are you there?" Arthur asked.

"I am here."

Arthur leaned forward. His face was gaunt. His eyes were dark. He looked thin. He looked old.

"Why did you do it?" Thomas asked.

Arthur smiled. It was a small smile. It was tired.

"I did nothing," Arthur said. "I did not kill the magistrate. I did not steal the gold. I was in the city. I was with you."

Thomas felt the ground shift. It was a lie. It was a known lie. But it was the truth that mattered.

"You are accused," Thomas said.

"Yes," Arthur said. "The evidence is strong. The witness saw me. The magistrate’s wife saw me."

"They are wrong," Thomas said.

Arthur laughed. It was a low sound. "They are not wrong. They are mistaken. But the law does not care about mistakes. The law cares about certainty. And you gave them certainty."

Thomas gripped the bars. His knuckles turned white.

"I had to," Thomas said.

"You had to save your position," Arthur said. "You had to save your career. You had to be the good soldier. The good officer. The man who follows orders."

Thomas looked away. He looked at the wall. The wall was stained. It was old.

"I protected you," Thomas said.

"You protected the system," Arthur said. "You let them break me to keep themselves whole. You let them use me as a warning. You let them show that no one is above the law. But the law is a tool. And you used it against me."

Thomas felt a tear. It fell on his cheek. It was hot. It was fast.

"I am sorry," Thomas said.

Arthur looked at him. His eyes were clear. There was no anger. There was no hate. There was only pity.

"Do not be sorry," Arthur said. "Be free."

Thomas blinked. "What?"

"Be free," Arthur said. "Stop being the mirror. Stop reflecting their cruelty. Be yourself. Even if yourself is broken. Even if yourself is weak. Be human."

Thomas stared at him. The words hung in the air. They were heavy. They were light.

"Time is short," Thomas said.

"Yes," Arthur said. "The Warden is coming. The executioner is waiting."

Thomas nodded. He let go of the bars. He stepped back.

He looked at Arthur one last time. He wanted to say more. He wanted to say everything. But there were no words. There were only eyes.

Thomas turned. He walked away. His steps were slow. They were heavy.

He walked back to the tower. He walked back to the room.

Elias was still there. He sat on the chair. He watched Thomas.

"Did you speak to him?" Elias asked.

Thomas did not answer. He walked to the window. He looked out. The rain had stopped. The sky was dark. The stars were coming out.

"I spoke to him," Thomas said.

"Did he forgive you?"

Thomas shook his head. "He asked me to be free."

Elias stood up. He walked to Thomas. He stood beside him. They looked out together.

The silence was loud. It filled the room. It filled the tower.

"What will you do?" Elias asked.

Thomas looked at his hands. They were steady. They were empty.

"I will go," Thomas said.

"Go where?"

Thomas looked at Elias. "Away. I cannot be here. I cannot be the law. I cannot be the stone."

Elias nodded. He understood. He had always understood.

"Will you return?" Elias asked.

Thomas shook his head. "No. I will not return. I will find a place where I am not a mirror. I will find a place where I am just a man."

Elias reached out. He touched Thomas’s arm. The touch was light. It was warm.

"Goodbye, Thomas," Elias said.

"Goodbye, Elias."

Thomas walked to the door. He opened it. The corridor was dark. The lanterns were dim.

He stepped out. He closed the door behind him. The latch clicked. It was a final sound. It was a sharp sound.

He walked down the stairs. The stone was cold under his feet. He walked with purpose. He walked with freedom.

He did not look back. He did not look up. He only looked forward.

The night was vast. The night was deep. The night was his.

He walked into the dark. He walked into the unknown. He walked into himself.

The tower stood behind him. It was silent. It was still. It was empty.

The rain began to fall again. It washed the stone. It washed the dust. It washed the blood.

The world turned. The hours passed. The days came.

Thomas was gone. He was free. He was alone.

But he was alive.

The mirror was broken. The reflection was gone.

Only the man remained.