I dreamed of the wall.

It was high.

Stone.

Cold.

I pressed my palm against it.

The grit bit my skin.

I was a soldier.

No, I was a guard.

The uniform was grey.

Dull.

I looked up.

The sky was a bruise.

Purple.

Black.

I turned.

A man stood behind me.

He wore a coat of deep blue.

His face was smooth.

Young.

He held a compass.

Gold.

It gleamed in the dim light.

The needle spun.

Slowly.

It stopped.

It pointed at me.

I did not move.

I am Elias Thorne.

I am fifty.

I walk the beat of Oakhaven.

The town is small.

The air smells of rain and wet pavement.

It is Tuesday.

The rain has not stopped.

I carry my baton.

My radio is hot against my hip.

The system is a machine.

It grinds.

It eats.

I am a gear.

I do not think.

I watch.

I record.

The chief is Miller.

He is old.

His voice is dry leaves.

He sits in a glass box.

He watches the screens.

He does not look at people.

He looks at data.

I report to him.

He reports to the State.

The State is above us.

The State is below us.

It is everywhere.

We are small.

We are necessary.

We are disposable.

I knew it.

I accepted it.

Acceptance is a form of peace.

Or so I told myself.

The boy was new.

His name was Julian.

He was a volunteer.

Young.

Eager.

He wanted to believe in the badge.

He wanted to believe in the line.

The line that keeps us safe.

The line that keeps them out.

Julian walked with me.

His steps were light.

Mine were heavy.

We passed the bakery.

The bread was warm.

The smell was sweet.

It was a lie.

The sweet smell covered the rot.

We passed the park.

The benches were empty.

The trees were bare.

They waited for spring.

Spring would not come.

Not this year.

"Officer Thorne," Julian said.

His voice was soft.

It cut the rain.

"Yes?" I said.

I did not look at him.

I looked at the street.

The wet asphalt was black.

It reflected the streetlights.

Like eyes.

Watching.

Judging.

"Did you ever..." Julian started.

He stopped.

He looked at his hands.

They were pale.

They trembled.

"Did you ever doubt?" he asked.

The rain fell.

It hit the ground.

It made no sound.

I felt the doubt.

It was a stone in my chest.

Heavy.

Cold.

I had carried it for years.

I did not answer.

I walked faster.

Julian hurried to keep up.

"Miller says you are steady," he said.

His voice was thin.

"Steady," he repeated.

The word tasted like ash.

"Steady is good," I said.

My voice was flat.

It was a command.

It was a wall.

Julian stopped.

I stopped.

He looked at me.

His eyes were wide.

Dark.

Like the sky in my dream.

"I saw something," he said.

The rain continued.

It was a veil.

It hid the world.

I waited.

I did not breathe.

"The warehouse," Julian said.

"Behind the old mill."

I knew the place.

It was condemned.

It was empty.

Or so the map said.

"The doors were open," Julian said.

His voice was a whisper.

I heard the wind in his words.

"They were not empty, Officer."

The stone in my chest grew larger.

It pressed against my ribs.

I looked at him.

Really looked.

His face was wet.

Not from the rain.

From sweat.

From fear.

"Who was there?" I asked.

My voice was low.

It was dangerous.

"Them," Julian said.

"The others."

"The system?" I asked.

Julian shook his head.

"No."

He took a step back.

The distance between us grew.

It was a chasm.

"The men in the grey coats."

The grey coats.

Like my dream.

Like my uniform.

But not mine.

Darker.

Harder.

"Who are they?" I asked.

"I don't know," Julian said.

His eyes were wet.

"I saw them move things."

"Boxes," he said.

"Metal boxes."

"Into the trucks."

"The trucks went to the North Road."

I knew the North Road.

It led to the border.

It led to the camps.

I had never been to the camps.

I did not want to go.

I had never seen the faces.

I had only seen the data.

The numbers.

The names.

Redacted.

Blacked out.

I looked at Julian.

He was shaking.

He was small.

He was afraid.

I should have comforted him.

I should have told him it was a mistake.

I should have told him the system was safe.

The system was just.

But the stone in my chest was heavy.

It crushed the lie.

It crushed the peace.

I looked at my hands.

They were steady.

They were clean.

But they were not white.

They were stained.

With what?

With time.

With silence.

With complicity.

"I will report this," I said.

My voice was hollow.

I turned.

I walked away.

I did not look back.

I could not.

If I looked back, I would see the truth.

And the truth was a blade.

It would cut me.

I walked to the station.

The glass box was bright.

Miller sat inside.

His face was pale.

His eyes were dead.

I stood in the doorway.

The rain dripped from my coat.

It pooled at my feet.

Dark.

Spreading.

"Thorne," Miller said.

He did not look up.

He looked at the screen.

The screen showed the street.

It showed me.

It showed Julian.

It showed the rain.

"Your patrol is late," Miller said.

His voice was calm.

It was cold.

"I saw something," I said.

My voice was a rasp.

Miller stopped typing.

He looked at me.

His eyes were grey.

Like the sky.

Like the stone.

"What did you see?" he asked.

His tone was flat.

It was a trap.

I stood still.

The water dripped.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I opened my mouth.

The words were there.

On the tip of my tongue.

The truth.

The metal boxes.

The grey coats.

The camps.

I looked at Miller.

I saw his face.

It was not evil.

It was not kind.

It was nothing.

It was a mask.

A mask of duty.

A mask of order.

I realized then.

The system did not need monsters.

It needed men like me.

Steady.

Silent.

Accepting.

The stone in my chest cracked.

It broke.

The pieces fell.

They were sharp.

They cut me.

But I did not feel pain.

I felt light.

I felt free.

I was defeated.

I was broken.

And I was free.

I closed my mouth.

I swallowed the truth.

It burned.

It tasted like blood.

"Nothing, Chief," I said.

My voice was smooth.

It was a lie.

It was the only thing I had left.

Miller nodded.

He looked at the screen.

He did not ask.

He did not believe.

He did not care.

The system worked.

The system was safe.

I turned.

I walked out.

The rain was heavier.

It blurred the world.

I walked to the warehouse.

I walked alone.

The street was empty.

The lights were dim.

I reached the door.

It was open.

Dark.

I stepped inside.

The air was stale.

It smelled of rust.

Of fear.

I walked in.

The darkness was thick.

It was a presence.

It touched my face.

It was cold.

I felt for the wall.

The stone was rough.

I pressed my palm against it.

It was solid.

It was real.

I heard a sound.

A scrape.

Metal on concrete.

I turned.

A man stood in the shadow.

He wore a grey coat.

His face was hidden.

He held a compass.

Gold.

It gleamed.

The needle spun.

It stopped.

It pointed at me.

I did not move.

I was a soldier.

I was a guard.

I was a gear.

The man stepped forward.

His boots were silent.

He walked to me.

He stopped.

He was close.

I could smell his breath.

It was cold.

He held out the compass.

He offered it to me.

I looked at it.

The gold was bright.

It was beautiful.

It was a trap.

I did not take it.

I looked at the man.

I saw his eyes.

They were dark.

They were empty.

Like Miller's.

Like mine.

We were the same.

We were the system.

We were the wall.

The man smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was sad.

He took back the compass.

He turned.

He walked into the darkness.

He disappeared.

I stood alone.

The rain stopped.

The silence was loud.

It was a roar.

I felt the stone in my chest.

It was gone.

I was empty.

I was hollow.

I was free.

I walked out.

The night was clear.

The stars were out.

They were cold.

They were distant.

I walked home.

I did not look back.

I did not look forward.

I looked down.

At my feet.

At the wet pavement.

At my reflection.

It was broken.

It was fragmented.

It was me.

I am Elias Thorne.

I am fifty.

I am free.

I am defeated.

The end is not a door.

It is a wall.

I press my palm against it.

It is cold.

It is solid.

It is here.

I am here.

The rain will come again.

The system will grind.

The gear will turn.

I will watch.

I will record.

I will be steady.

I will be silent.

I will be the wall.

The wall is golden.

The wall is gold.

The wall is me.