The bell rang.

It rang in my teeth.

I woke.

The air tasted of iron.

I was in the cell.

Stone walls.

Cold.

I looked at my hands.

They shook.

I held the vial.

Glass.

Clear.

It was empty.

No, not empty.

A single drop remained.

It sat at the bottom.

Shining.

Like a tear.

Like a seed.

I remembered the taste.

Sweet.

Bitter.

The doctor had called it tonic.

He smiled.

His teeth were white.

"Drink," he said.

I drank.

The world spun.

Then it stopped.

Now I sat.

The door opened.

A shadow fell.

"Thomas," a voice said.

Low.

Smooth.

It was Mr. Ashworth.

He stood in the frame.

He wore a suit.

Black.

Sharp.

He looked at the floor.

"Still awake," he said.

I did not answer.

My throat was dry.

I clutched the vial.

"Put it down," Ashworth said.

"I won't."

He stepped in.

The lock clicked.

He leaned against the wall.

"You are a fool, Thomas."

"Am I?"

"You think you are fighting."

"I am."

"You are dying."

He pointed at the vial.

"Look at your hand."

I looked.

My fingers were gray.

Blue.

Spreading.

The poison.

The tonic.

It was in me.

Ashworth sighed.

"It was not poison."

I stared.

"It was medicine."

"Then why do I feel it?"

"Because you are weak."

He walked closer.

"Come."

"I stay."

"You must come."

He reached for the vial.

I pulled back.

My arm stiffened.

Pain shot up.

White fire.

I dropped the glass.

It shattered.

The drop fell.

It hit the stone.

It did not break.

It sat.

Round.

Bright.

Ashworth looked at it.

He looked at me.

"See?" he said.

"I do."

"The system works."

"I don't care."

He laughed.

A dry sound.

"Everyone cares, Thomas."

"Then let them care."

"We will move you."

"To where?"

"Up."

He nodded.

"Up to the Hall."

My head swam.

The Hall.

The place of power.

The place of judgment.

"I will not go."

"You have no choice."

Two men entered.

Silent.

They took my arms.

I kicked.

I bit.

They did not flinch.

They dragged me.

The stone floor bit my knees.

I saw the door.

Dark.

Wide.

We walked.

Up stairs.

Stone steps.

I gasped.

The air changed.

Warm.

Heavy.

Smelled of wax.

Old paper.

We entered a room.

Large.

Tall ceilings.

Paintings on the walls.

Faces.

Staring.

Ashworth released me.

I fell to my knees.

He walked to a table.

A long table.

Wood.

Polished.

He sat.

"Sit," he said.

A chair.

I sat.

My legs trembled.

Ashworth opened a file.

Paper.

White.

He read.

Silence.

Then he spoke.

"Your report."

"I wrote it."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Did you sign it?"

"Yes."

"Then it is true."

"It is my word."

"Your word is nothing here."

I looked at him.

He looked at the file.

"Look at this."

He slid the paper.

I read.

My name.

My crime.

Treason.

Espionage.

Lies.

All my words twisted.

My defense became attack.

My fear became malice.

I looked up.

"This is wrong."

"This is law."

"Law is a lie."

He smiled.

A thin smile.

"No."

He tapped the paper.

"Law is order."

"Order is death."

"Order is life."

He leaned forward.

"Thomas. Look at me."

I looked.

His eyes were cold.

Blue.

Like ice.

"You are a ghost."

"I am a man."

"Here, you are a function."

"Then let me be dead."

"No."

He stood.

He walked to the window.

The glass was thick.

Outside.

Smoke.

Black.

The city burned.

"The war is over," he said.

"Is it?"

"The guns are silent."

"They sleep."

"They will wake."

"Let them."

He turned.

"You are the last."

"Last what?"

"Last of the old way."

"I am no way."

"You are a relic."

He picked up the file.

He closed it.

"You will be released."

I blinked.

"Released?"

"Yes."

He walked to the door.

He opened it.

"Go."

I stood.

My legs shook.

I walked to the door.

I stopped.

"Why?"

He did not turn.

"Because you are useful."

"I am a prisoner."

"You are a witness."

"A witness to what?"

"To nothing."

He stepped out.

I followed.

The corridor.

Long.

Dark.

Lamps on the walls.

Flickering.

I walked.

My hand bled.

The cut from the glass.

It dripped.

Red on stone.

I reached the exit.

A heavy door.

I pushed.

It opened.

Light.

Blinding.

White.

I stepped out.

The street.

Cobblestones.

Wet.

People.

Walking.

Talking.

Living.

I stood in the middle.

I looked at my hand.

The blood.

It was bright.

I looked at the sky.

Gray.

Clouds.

I felt the vial in my pocket.

Wait.

I did not have it.

I dropped it.

I searched my pockets.

Empty.

I looked at Ashworth.

He was gone.

I was alone.

I walked.

I did not know where.

I walked to the park.

Bench.

Wood.

Wet.

I sat.

I looked at my hand.

The gray was fading.

The blue was gone.

My skin was pale.

Normal.

I touched my face.

Warm.

Alive.

I remembered the drop.

The one on the floor.

I had left it.

I had left the poison.

I had left the truth.

I stood.

I walked home.

My house.

Small.

Brick.

I entered.

Locked the door.

I went to the kitchen.

I opened the cabinet.

Cups.

Plates.

I took a cup.

Water.

I drank.

I tasted nothing.

Just water.

I sat at the table.

I looked at the wall.

Plain.

White.

I thought of Thomas.

Of me.

I was free.

Was I?

Ashworth’s face.

The file.

The lie.

I was free.

But I was changed.

The taste remained.

In my mouth.

Sweet.

Bitter.

I closed my eyes.

I heard the bell.

Ringing.

In my teeth.

I opened my eyes.

The room was still.

I looked at my hand.

It was clean.

I washed it.

I dried it.

I went to the door.

I opened it.

The street.

Quiet.

Dark.

I stepped out.

I locked the door.

I walked.

I did not stop.

I walked into the night.

The smoke rose.

I breathed it in.

I walked on.

The city slept.

I did not.

I was awake.

I was alone.

I was free.

And it was enough.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

I walked.

The bell rang.

Again.

I smiled.

A small smile.

I kept walking.

The dark swallowed me.

I was gone.

But I was there.

In the air.

In the stone.

In the silence.

I was the ghost.

I was the witness.

I was the drop.

I sat on the bench.

The rain started.

Light.

Cold.

I let it fall.

On my face.

On my hands.

I closed my eyes.

I saw the vial.

Shining.

I opened my eyes.

The street was empty.

I stood.

I walked home.

I entered.

I sat.

I waited.

For nothing.

For everything.

The bell rang.

I did not move.

I was still.

I was present.

I was real.

I was alone.

And I was brave.

I breathed.

In.

Out.

The night deepened.

I was part of it.

I was the night.

I was the silence.

I was the truth.

And the truth was cold.

And I was warm.

I was alive.

I was free.

I was home.

The bell stopped.

I slept.

Dreamless.

Deep.

I was gone.

I was here.

I was the ghost.

I was the man.

I was the drop.

I sat.

I stood.

I walked.

I was free.

I was alone.

I was enough.

The end.