The watch is heavy. It has always been heavy. You hold it in your palm, the brass cold against the sweat of your skin. The face is white. The hands are stopped. You do not look at the time. You look at the hairline crack running through the crystal. It looks like a vein. It looks like a road.

You are standing in the corridor of the palace. The wallpaper is peeling. It curls away from the plaster in long, dry strips, like dead skin. The air smells of damp wool and old paper. It smells of waiting. You are a soldier. Or you were. Now you are just a man with a dead clock and a hunger that does not go away.

Your brother is in the room at the end of the hall. His name is Thomas. He has been there for three days. He is the King’s man now. He wears the uniform. It fits him well. It has never fit you. You remember when he was small. He used to climb the trees in the yard. His hands were always sticky with sap. Now his hands are clean. They are polished. They hold the watch.

You walk forward. Your boots do not make a sound. The floorboards are soft. They have rotted in the middle. You feel the give beneath your weight. It is a dangerous place. You know this. You have been here before. You have seen men disappear in this building. They walk in. They do not walk out. They become part of the walls. They become part of the silence.

The door is open. A sliver of light cuts across the floor. It is thin. It is pale. You step into the light. The room is large. The ceiling is high. The paint is chipping. It falls in flakes. It looks like snow. It looks like ash.

Thomas is sitting at the desk. He is facing the window. He is not looking at you. He is looking at the city. The city is gray. The smoke hangs low. It chokes the streets. It chokes the air. You can hear the factories. The low, rhythmic thrum. The pulse of the machine. It is the heartbeat of the world. It is the sound of money. It is the sound of power.

You set the watch on the desk. It makes a small sound. A click. It is loud in the quiet room. Thomas does not move. His shoulder does not twitch. You know he heard you. You know he knows you are there. He is waiting. He is always waiting. He has learned to wait. It is his gift. It is his curse.

"You brought it," he says.

His voice is flat. It is smooth. It has no edge. You hate it. You hate the calm. You remember his voice when he was angry. It was sharp. It was bright. It cut through the air. Now it is dull. It is dead.

"I brought it," you say.

You do not sit. You stand by the door. You keep your distance. You are careful. You are a soldier. You know how to stand. You know how to breathe. You do not breathe fast. You do not blink often. You are stone. You are iron. You are the thing that does not break.

Thomas turns around. He looks at the watch. He does not touch it. He looks at you. His eyes are dark. They are deep. You cannot see the bottom. You have never seen the bottom. Not since we were children. Not since the fire.

"Why?" he asks.

"I need it," you say.

"You don't need it," he says. "It is broken. It is dead. It is worth nothing."

"It is not dead," you say. "It is sleeping. It is waiting. It will wake up. It will tell the truth."

Thomas smiles. It is a small smile. It is sad. It is tired. It is the smile of a man who has given up. It is the smile of a man who has won. You do not like his smile. You want to strike him. You want to take the watch. You want to run. You want to go back to the yard. You want to climb the trees. You want to be small.

"It is a trap," Thomas says.

"Traps are for fools," you say. "I am not a fool. I am a soldier. I follow orders. I survive. I endure."

"You are a ghost," he says. "You are a memory. You are the past. I am the present. I am the future. We are not the same."

"We are blood," you say. "We are bone. We are flesh. We are one."

"Separate," he says. "Always separate."

You look at the watch again. The crack is still there. It is darker now. It is deeper. It is spreading. It is eating the glass. It is eating the light. You feel a pull. It is in your chest. It is in your throat. It is in your teeth. It is a hunger. It is a void. It is the hole where your heart used to be.

You think of your mother. She is in the ground. The earth is cold. The rain is heavy. The flowers are dead. She used to wind the watch. She used to wind it every night. She said it was lucky. She said it was a gift. She said it would keep us safe. She was wrong. It kept us apart. It kept us bound. It kept us trapped.

You think of the street. The street is cold. The street is hard. The people are hungry. The children are thin. Their eyes are wide. Their hands are empty. They look at you. They see a man. They see a soldier. They see nothing. You are invisible. You are a shadow. You are a lie.

You want to go back. You want to take the watch. You want to leave. You want to be free. You want to run. You want to scream. You want to break.

Thomas stands up. He is tall. He is strong. He is solid. He moves toward the desk. He moves toward the watch. He moves toward you. The air changes. The air gets thick. The air gets heavy. The air gets dark.

He reaches for the watch. His hand is steady. His fingers are long. They are pale. They are cold. He does not pick it up. He pushes it away. He pushes it toward you. He pushes it across the desk. He pushes it across the floor. He pushes it into your shadow.

"Take it," he says.

"What?" you say.

"Take it," he says. "It is yours. It has always been yours. I only held it. I only kept it. I only waited. Now it is your burden. Now it is your weight. Now it is your cage."

You look at the watch. It is on the floor. It is in the dust. It is in the dark. It is small. It is insignificant. It is everything.

You do not pick it up. You cannot pick it up. Your hands are shaking. Your legs are weak. Your knees are buckling. You are falling. You are sinking. You are drowning.

You close your eyes. You see the fire. You see the smoke. You see the heat. You see the faces. You see the pain. You see the loss. You see the end.

You open your eyes. You are still standing. You are still alive. You are still here.

Thomas is looking at you. His face is blank. His eyes are empty. He is waiting for you to move. He is waiting for you to take the weight. He is waiting for you to break.

You step forward. You kneel down. You reach out. You touch the watch. The brass is cold. The crystal is cracked. The hands are stopped.

You pick it up. It is heavy. It is so heavy. It is the weight of the world. It is the weight of the past. It is the weight of the sin.

You stand up. You hold the watch. You look at Thomas. You look at the door. You look at the light.

You turn away. You walk to the door. You do not look back. You do not speak. You do not move your lips. You do not make a sound.

You step out into the corridor. The door closes behind you. It is a soft sound. It is a final sound. It is a death.

You walk down the hall. Your steps are heavy. Your breath is short. Your heart is slow. The watch is in your hand. It is in your pocket. It is in your soul.

You reach the stairs. You go down. You go down. You go down.

The palace is empty. The walls are silent. The shadows are long. The air is cold.

You reach the bottom. You reach the door. You reach the street.

You step out. The air hits you. It is cold. It is wet. It is sharp. It bites your skin. It bites your lungs. It bites your mind.

The city is there. The smoke is there. The noise is there. The people are there.

You look at the watch. You hold it up. You look at the face. The crack is gone. The glass is clear. The hands are moving.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The sound is loud. The sound is clear. The sound is your own.

You look at the sky. The sky is gray. The sky is dark. The sky is full.

You are free.

You are free.

You are free.

And you are alone.

And you are hungry.

And you are cold.

And you are free.

You walk into the street. You walk into the dark. You walk into the rain. You walk into the noise. You walk into the life. You walk into the death.

You do not stop. You do not look back. You do not turn. You do not rest.

You walk.

You walk.

You walk.