The seal broke.

It was a small sound. A snap, like a knuckle cracking. I looked up from my maps. The wax was red. It had been red for three days. Now it was black.

"Did you hear that?" I asked.

Old Silas didn't look up. He was sharpening a quill. The wood shavings curled on his desk. "Hear what, Captain?"

"The seal. On the letter from the King."

Silas shrugged. "Wax is wax. It dries. It cracks. It’s old."

"It was fresh this morning."

"Time moves, James. You forget that. You live in the moment. The moment passes."

I picked up the letter. The red was gone. The ink was wet. It wasn't dry yet. I had seen it dry an hour ago. I had pressed my thumb into it. It had been hard.

"Read it," Silas said. He pointed with the quill. "Just read it."

I read.

*The gate is open. The dog is hungry. Come alone. Do not bring the light.*

I frowned. "What dog?"

Silas stopped sharpening. He looked at me. His eyes were tired. "You know what dog, James."

"I don’t know what you mean. We are in London. There are no wild dogs here that matter."

"There is always a dog," Silas said. "At the end of the road. You just have to walk far enough."

I put the letter down. "This is a joke. Someone is playing with me."

"Is it?" Silas smiled. It was a sad smile. "Look at the window."

I looked. The rain was falling. The street was empty. A lantern swayed.

"Who sent this?" I asked.

"Who do you think?"

"I don't think. I investigate. I catch."

"You catch," Silas said. "Yes. You catch them in the net. You weigh them. You put them in the box. But you never ask what is inside the box."

I stood up. My boots clicked on the floor. "I am going to find the sender."

"You can't," Silas said. "He is already here."

"Who?"

"The one who knows."

I grabbed my coat. I grabbed my gun. I didn't look back.

The rain was cold. It hit my face like needles. I walked fast. The streets were slick. The gas lamps hissed.

I went to the bridge. The old bridge. The one with the stone lions.

I stood under the arch. I looked at the water. It was black. It moved slow.

A man was there. He was sitting on a bench. He wore a grey coat. He held a pipe. He was not smoking.

"Captain," he said.

I raised my gun. "Show me your face."

He pulled his hat down. "You know me."

"I don't know you."

"Look closer, James."

I stepped closer. The fog was thick. I could smell coal smoke. I could smell wet wool.

It was my face.

It was not my face. It was an old face. It was my face, but older. The skin was loose. The eyes were deep.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

"I am the one who stayed," he said.

I lowered my gun. My hand shook. "That’s impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," he said. "Not when you are here."

"Where is here?"

"This place. The space between. The threshold."

I looked around. The bridge was gone. The water was gone. I was standing in a room. It was white. The walls were white. The floor was white. There was no door. There was no window.

Silas was there. He sat in a chair. He held a book.

"Hello, James," he said.

"You?" I looked at the man in the grey coat. He was gone.

"I told you," Silas said. "You can't catch him. He is you."

I turned to Silas. "What is this place?"

"It is the end," Silas said. "It is the beginning. It is the middle. It is all of it."

I felt sick. My stomach turned. "I am not dead."

"Are you?" Silas asked. "Think about it."

I thought. I remembered the letter. I remembered the red wax. I remembered the cold rain.

"I am alive," I said. "I am in my office."

"Are you?" Silas closed the book. "Look at your hand."

I looked at my hand. It was translucent. I could see the white wall through my fingers.

Panic rose in my chest. It was a cold bird. It beat its wings.

"No," I said. "No."

"Yes," Silas said. "You died, James. Three days ago."

"Who killed me?"

"Nobody. You killed yourself."

"I didn't."

"You did. You were tired. You were afraid. You wanted to stop."

"I don't remember."

"Memory is a liar. It keeps what it likes. It throws away the rest."

I sat down. The chair was cold. It was hard. "Why am I here?"

"To learn," Silas said. "To understand."

"Understand what?"

"The seal."

I looked at the table. There was no table. There was only space.

"The red wax," Silas said. "It was not wax. It was blood."

My blood.

"The letter," Silas said. "It was not from the King. It was from you."

"To whom?"

"To the one who is still alive."

I felt a tear slide down my cheek. It was hot. It burned.

"I don't understand," I said.

"You will," Silas said. "When you let go."

"Let go of what?"

"Of the gun. Of the case. Of the need to catch."

I looked at my hand. The gun was gone. I had never had a gun in this room. I had imagined it.

"I was trying to save her," I said.

Silas nodded. "Your wife. Margaret."

"Margaret." I said her name. It tasted like ash. "She was sick. I couldn't fix it. I could catch the thief. I could catch the liar. I could not catch the death."

"Death is not a criminal," Silas said. "It does not run. It does not hide. It walks."

"I failed her."

"You loved her," Silas said. "That is enough. That is more than enough."

I shook my head. "No. I broke the seal. I broke the promise."

"What promise?"

"I promised to stay. I promised to be there."

"You were there," Silas said. "You are there now. You are always there."

I closed my eyes. I tried to see her face. I saw her hair. I saw her smile. I saw the way she held the teacup.

It was fading. It was becoming white. Like the walls.

"No," I said. "Don't go."

"I am not going," Silas said. "I am leaving. You must go."

"Where?"

"To the threshold. To the door."

I opened my eyes. A door appeared. It was made of light. It was soft. It was warm.

"Go," Silas said.

"I am afraid."

"Good," Silas said. "Fear means you are still human. But do not fight it. Let it pass. Let it break."

I stood up. My legs were weak. I walked to the door. The light was bright. It hurt.

"Silas," I said.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You are welcome, Captain."

I pushed the door open.

The light swallowed me.

I was falling. I was flying. I was nothing.

I was Margaret.

I was the red wax.

I was the black ink.

I was the snap.

I was the silence.

I was the end.

And it was beautiful.

I opened my eyes.

I was in the office. The rain was falling. The lantern was swaying.

Silas was sharpening his quill.

"Did you hear that?" I asked.

"Hear what?" he said.

"The seal."

Silas looked up. He looked at me. He smiled.

"It is dry," he said. "It is black. It is done."

I looked at the letter. The wax was black. It was hard. It was unbroken.

I felt light. I felt empty. I felt full.

I put the letter in the drawer. I locked it.

"Come," Silas said. "There is tea."

We sat. We drank. We said nothing.

The rain stopped. The sun came out. It was a small sun. It was a quiet sun.

I looked at my hand. It was solid. It was warm.

I was alive.

I was alone.

I was free.