The rain hits the tin roof like gravel. You count the drops. One, two, three. Your father is dead. The silence is louder than the storm. You hold the box. It is heavy. Iron. Cold. Inside is the watch. Your father’s watch. It stopped at four in the morning. The time he left. Or the time he died. No one knows for sure.

You are a soldier. You are also a son. These two things do not fit together. They chafe. The uniform is too tight. The collar bites your neck. You look at the watch. The face is cracked. A hairline fracture runs through the glass. Like a vein. Like a bone.

The camp is a mess. Tents. Mud. The smell of wet wool and old sweat. Your commander, Major Halloway, stands by the fire. He looks at you. His eyes are flat. Dead fish eyes.

"You have the report," he says.

Yes.

"Read it."

You open the box. The watch is there. You take it out. The metal is cold against your palm. You look at Halloway.

"It’s broken," you say.

"Read the report."

You pick up the paper. It is damp. The ink blurs. You read the words. They are simple. Dry. Bureaucratic.

Subject: Disappearance of Lieutenant Miller. Status: MIA. Last seen: Sector 4. Cause: Unknown.

You look up. Halloway is smoking. The ember glows red. He does not look at you. He looks at the fire. The fire pops. Sparks fly into the dark.

"You held the watch," Halloway says.

Yes.

"Your father gave it to you?"

Yes.

"He was a good man."

He was.

"He was a traitor."

You freeze. The air leaves your lungs. You look at the Major. His face is calm. Too calm.

"What?" you ask.

"Traitor," he says again. He takes a drag. Smoke curls from his nose. "He sent the codes. To the other side. That’s why he ran. That’s why you were here."

The ground shakes. Not from an earthquake. From your feet. You feel sick. Your father. The man who taught you to tie your shoes. The man who hummed while he cooked. The man who smelled of tobacco and soap. He sold them out. He sold you out.

You look at the watch. The crack in the glass looks like a smile. A cruel one.

"No," you say.

"Do you have proof?" Halloway asks.

No.

"Then you have nothing."

You want to scream. You want to hit him. Your hand moves. It is a fist. You swing.

Halloway catches your wrist. He is strong. His grip is iron. You pull. He does not move. He looks at you with pity. That is worse than anger. Pity is a knife.

"Put it down," he says.

You drop the watch. It hits the mud. Clatter.

"Go to your tent," he says. "Sleep."

You walk. Your legs are wood. You do not look back. The rain stops. The night is black. You sit on the edge of your cot. You stare at the wall. The canvas flaps. In and out. In and out.

Your father’s face is in your mind. The wrinkles. The kind eyes. The lie. The big lie. You loved him. You loved him so much it hurt. Now that love is poison. It burns in your throat.

You think about the watch. It is in the mud. It is ruined. You go back. The camp is quiet. Halloway is gone. The fire is low. You find the watch. It is caked in dirt. You wipe it. The crack is still there. You wind it. It does not move.

You keep it in your pocket. It is heavy. It pulls at your jeans. You walk to the edge of the camp. The wire fence. The darkness beyond.

You should run. You should leave. But you cannot. You are a soldier. You are a son. You are both. You are nothing.

The next day, the news comes. A raid. The other side. They found the documents. They found the codes. Your father’s handwriting. It was real. He did it. He sent the codes. He betrayed the unit. He betrayed you.

Halloway calls you to his tent. He sits at his desk. He does not look up.

"You can go," he says.

Where?

Home.

I have no home.

You have a mother.

She is dead.

You have a name. You have a record. You can wipe it clean. Or you can stay. And rot.

I don’t want to rot.

Then go.

You turn to leave.

"Wait."

You stop.

He looks at you. His face is soft. For a moment, he is not a commander. He is a man. An old man. Tired.

"He loved you," Halloway says.

I know.

"He was a bad man. But he loved you. That is the only thing that mattered. In the end. It is the only thing that ever matters."

I don’t care.

You do. You will. For a long time.

You walk out. The sun is out. It is bright. Too bright. It burns your eyes. You have the watch in your pocket. You take it out. You look at it. The crack. The stopped hands.

You think about running. You think about the border. You think about the fields. The quiet places. Places where no one knows your name. Places where you are not a traitor’s son. Places where you are just a boy.

You walk to the fence. You cut the wire. It snaps. You step through. The grass is tall. You walk. The road is long. The sun is high. Your shadow is small.

You walk for days. You eat wild berries. You drink from streams. Your boots break. You walk barefoot. The stones are sharp. You bleed. You do not stop.

You reach a town. Small. Dirt roads. Wooden houses. You enter a shop. You buy shoes. You buy bread. You sit on a bench. You eat. You watch the people. They are alive. They are normal. They do not carry the weight of the past.

You take out the watch. You hold it in your hand. You look at it. You think of your father. You think of Halloway. You think of the codes. You think of the lie.

You stand up. You walk to the river. The water is clear. It flows fast. You hold the watch over the water.

You could keep it. You could sell it. It is gold. It is worth money. You are poor. You are hungry. You need money.

But it is a lie. It is a piece of the lie. It is the thing that stopped time. It is the thing that broke your father.

You open your hand.

The watch falls.

It hits the water. Splash.

It sinks.

You watch it go. It turns. The glass catches the light. A flash. Then it is gone.

You stand there. The water flows on. It does not care. It takes everything. It takes the watch. It takes the name. It takes the father.

You feel light. For the first time, you feel light.

You turn away. You walk back to the town. You need to find work. You need to live. You need to be someone. Not a soldier. Not a traitor’s son. Just a man.

The sun sets. The sky is orange. The stars come out. You look up. They are cold. They are far. They are eternal.

You are not eternal. You are small. You are mortal. You are here.

You walk into the dark. You do not look back. The past is in the river. The future is in your feet.

You breathe. The air is cool. It is clean.

You are free.

But it is a heavy freedom. It weighs nothing. And that is the hardest part. To carry nothing. To be empty. To be new.

You think of your father. He was a man. He made mistakes. He loved. He died. He is gone.

You are here.

You walk. The road goes on.

You keep walking.