Recognition.
Memories began to surface.
Not the ones the newspapers had dissected and replayed endlessly, but older ones.
Quieter ones.
A woman’s laughter. Warm hands brushing his hair when he was a child. The smell of rain on dry earth. The feeling of being seen—not as something broken, but as something whole.
He had buried those memories so deeply that he had forgotten they existed.
But now, looking at his own reflection, they returned.
Not as ghosts.
As proof.
“I wasn’t always like this,” Elias said.
The guard nodded slowly. “Most people aren’t.”
Elias gave a faint smile.
“No,” he said. “I suppose not.”
He traced the edge of the mirror with his thumb.
“I think… I stopped looking,” he continued. “Stopped seeing myself. After a while, it’s easier that way.”
“Easier?” the guard asked.
“Yes,” Elias said. “If you don’t see yourself, you don’t have to ask questions.”
The final hour approached.
The prison grew quieter, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The warden appeared, flanked by two guards.
“It’s time,” he said.
Elias nodded.
He stood, holding the mirror in his hand.
“Can I take this with me?” he asked.
The warden hesitated, then gave a short nod. “Yes.”
The walk to the execution chamber was slow.
Measured.
Each step carried the weight of finality, yet Elias did not resist. He did not falter.
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