The dream was white. Not the white of snow, or paper, or bone. It was a sterile, aggressive brightness that hummed against the back of my eyes. I stood in a hall that stretched forever, the floor a seamless sheet of polished marble. There were no walls. Only light.

I was seven years old. I knew this because I could feel the weight of my own smallness, the specific gravity of childhood. I was wearing a school uniform, though the fabric felt like wet sand against my skin.

"Move," a voice said.

I did not look up. I knew the voice. It belonged to the air itself. It was the voice of the institution. The voice of the Palace.

I walked. The marble was cold. It bit into my bare feet. I had no shoes. I never had shoes in the dream.

"You are slow," the voice said.

"I am trying," I said. My voice sounded thin. It sounded like a dry leaf skittering across pavement.

"Try harder."

I tried. I forced my legs to lift. They were heavy. They were made of lead. I looked down at my feet. They were not feet. They were roots. Thick, gnarled, brown roots that had broken through the white marble. They were tangled in the stone. They were pulling me down.

I pulled. The roots snapped. Blood welled up. Red against white. It looked like a wound in the light.

"Look at you," the voice said. There was no anger in it. Only disappointment. A cold, clinical disappointment. "You are breaking the floor."

"I didn't mean to," I said.

"Intent does not matter. The damage does."

I stopped. I stood in the pool of my own blood. The roots continued to grow. They spread out from my ankles, branching into the cracks of the marble. They were spreading. They were taking over.

"Stop it," the voice commanded.

"I can't," I whispered.

"Then we will remove you."

The light flickered. For a second, it was dark. In the dark, I saw them. They were standing on the periphery of the hall. Figures in grey suits. They had no faces. Just smooth, blank ovals where eyes should be. They were watching me. They were waiting.

The light returned. It was brighter now. Blinding.

"Step forward," the voice said.

I stepped forward. The roots behind me tore free with a sound like cracking wood. I screamed, but no sound came out. I was silent. I was always silent in the Palace.

I reached the center of the hall. There was a chair. It was empty. It was made of glass.

"Sit," the voice said.

I sat. The glass was sharp. It cut into my thighs. I held still. I breathed. In. Out. In. Out.

"Who are you?" the voice asked.

I looked around. The hall was empty. The faceless figures were gone. The roots were gone. There was only the white light and the glass chair.

"I am here," I said.

"No," the voice said. "Who are you? What do you represent?"

"I am a student," I said.

"No. You are a symbol. You are the flaw in the system. You are the error."

I looked at my hands. They were transparent. I could see the light passing through them. I was becoming like the hall. I was becoming like the light.

"I don't want to be an error," I said.

"Errors are necessary," the voice said. "They show us where the boundaries are. You are the boundary. You are the place where the system fails. And so you must be removed."

The glass chair began to dissolve. It turned into mist. I fell.

I woke up gasping.

The room was dark. My bed was wet. I sat up. My heart was hammering against my ribs. I looked at my hands. They were solid. Brown. Human.

I went to the bathroom. The floor tiles were cold. I looked in the mirror. My face was pale. My eyes were red. I looked like a ghost.

I brushed my teeth. I washed my face. I dressed for school.

The school was a palace. Not a royal palace, but a palace of bureaucracy. High ceilings. Polished floors. A smell of floor wax and old paper. It was a place where rules were written in stone and followed without question.

I walked in. The hallways were crowded. Students moved in packs. They were uniform in their appearance. Uniform in their silence.

I saw Thomas.

Thomas was standing by the lockers. He was leaning against the metal, his arms crossed. He was looking at his phone. He did not see me.

I walked past him. I kept my eyes on the floor. I counted the tiles. One. Two. Three.

"Hey," a voice said.

I stopped. I turned.

It was Sarah.

Sarah was my friend. Or she had been. Before. Before the incident. Before the rumor.

She was holding two cups of coffee. She looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes.

"Here," she said. She handed me one. "Latte. No sugar."

I took it. It was warm. It felt real.

"Thanks," I said.

"We need to talk," she said. Her voice was low. Urgent.

"Can't we do this in the cafeteria?" I asked.

"No. Now. Before the bell."

I looked around. The hallway was emptying. The students were moving toward their classrooms. The noise was fading.

"Okay," I said.

We walked to a corner. There was a pillar. We stood behind it.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I heard something," Sarah said.

"About what?"

"About you."

I sipped the coffee. It tasted bitter.

"What did you hear?"

"That you are a threat," she said.

I laughed. It was a dry, short sound. "A threat?"

"They are talking about expelling you," she said.

"Why?"

"Because of the incident last year. The fire."

I froze. I remembered the fire. I remembered the smoke. I remembered the feeling of betrayal.

"I didn't start it," I said.

"I know," Sarah said. "But they think you did."

"I was with you," I said. "You were with me. You know I was with you."

"I know," she said. "But they don't care about the truth. They care about the narrative."

"The narrative?"

"You are the problem," she said. "You are the one who asked too many questions. You are the one who challenged the system. And now they are coming for you."

I looked at her. Her eyes were wide. Fearful.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"Because I am afraid," she said. "And because I feel guilty."

"Guilty for what?"

"For not stopping it," she said. "For not speaking up when they started the rumors. For letting them think you were guilty."

I looked down at my coffee. The surface was still.

"It doesn't matter now," I said.

"It does," she said. "They are going to hold a hearing. Today. In the main office."

"What do they want from me?"

"An apology," she said. "A confession."

"I won't do it."

"Then you are out," she said. "They will destroy you. They will erase you."

I looked at her. I saw myself in her eyes. I saw the fear. I saw the doubt. I saw the part of me that wanted to give up.

"I know," I said.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"What are you going to do?"

"I am going to go," I said.

"To the hearing?"

"Yes."

Sarah looked at me. She looked sad. She looked relieved.

"Good luck," she said.

"Thanks," I said.

I turned away. I walked toward the main office.

The hallway was long. The walls were white. The floor was polished. It looked like the hall in my dream.

I walked faster. My heart was pounding.

I reached the door. It was heavy. Wooden.

I pushed it open.

The room was small. There was a table. There were five people sitting behind it. They wore grey suits. They had no faces.

I looked at them. They looked at me.

"Sit," the voice said.

It was not a human voice. It was the voice of the air. The voice of the institution.

I sat.

"Who are you?" the voice asked.

I looked at my hands. They were solid.

"I am here," I said.

"No," the voice said. "Who are you? What do you represent?"

I thought about the roots. I thought about the blood. I thought about the fire.

"I am the boundary," I said.

The voice was silent.

The five people leaned forward. Their faces were still blank. But I could feel their attention. It was heavy. It was cold.

"You are the flaw," the voice said.

"Yes," I said.

"And you must be removed."

"No," I said.

The room went quiet.

The five people looked at each other. They whispered.

"Is that a refusal?" one of them asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Then you are expelled."

I stood up.

I walked to the door.

"Wait," the voice said.

I stopped. I did not turn around.

"You can leave," the voice said. "But you will never come back. You will be erased. You will become a myth. A warning."

I looked at the door. The light outside was bright.

"I know," I said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I opened the door.

I walked out.

The hallway was empty.

I walked to the exit.

I pushed the door open.

The sun was shining.

I stepped outside.

I looked back at the building. It was tall. It was grey. It was imposing.

I turned away.

I walked into the street.

The world was loud. Noisy. Chaotic.

It was real.

I took a deep breath.

The air was cold. It burned my lungs.

I smiled.

It was a small smile.

But it was mine.