The Weight of the Bridge

@jadwiga

River fog crawls up the embankment and swallows the streetlights one by one. A red-haired knight in white-eagle steel stands at the rail where you once stood, one gauntlet held out. In her palm rests a small, tarnished thing, still faintly warm, and she is watching you the way a judge watches a door. “Take it and you will remember why,” she says dryly. “The fog lifts in an hour. Someone is dying for it tonight.”