The tower worker dropped the noose and backed up, startled. Ambrosius fell to his knees and scooped Ballister up into his arms. He was limp, like a rag doll. His head flopped to the side lifelessly.

“No…”

Ambrosius pressed fingers against his neck, hoping against hope he’d find a pulse, that Ballister had somehow survived the hanging. There was nothing.

“No… no no no!” Ambrosius broke down. He held Ballister's body close, shaking as tears fell down his face. He’d been too late. He’d been too late! He screamed his grief, as if letting loose would somehow fix everything.

“Get him out of here.” The Director’s voice could just be heard over the sound of cameras clicking in the background.

Ambrosius found himself being lifted from the ground and the body pried from his grasp. This time, he didn’t have the willpower to fight back. The world was a blur as he was escorted from the courtyard and shoved into a small storeroom in the back. The door locked behind him. 

Ambrosius stood in the middle of the room in stunned silence. He couldn’t think. His world had been shattered. His best friend, the man he’d loved, first a murderer, and then taken away. Taken away and never coming back. They were supposed to have had a future together. They’d work their way up the ranks, together. Get a house near The Institute, together. A house they could grow old in, together. All of that… suddenly gone. There was no fixing this.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard the lock click open behind him.

“Come on, everyone’s gone now.” the voice of a guard came.

Stumbling, Ambrosius stepped back outside. The courtyard was empty, as if nothing had happened at all.

“Where… where is the body,” he whispered.

“I don’t think—”

“Please. I just want to see him.”

The guard huffed and pointed down a hallway. “Just don’t make a scene again.”

Ambrosius shuffled down the hallway mindlessly. Sure enough, there was an open room at the end with a light on. Inside, another guard sat in a chair against the wall, scrolling through her phone. In the center of the room was a gurney. Ballister lay on it, still wearing the prison clothes he'd been hung in.

The guard glanced up at Ambrosius as he entered. Ambrosius paused.

“I just want to see him. We were… friends.”

“Sure. The morgue’s on their way.” the guard turned back to her phone.

Ambrosius pulled up a chair next to the gurney. He picked up Ballister's hand. It was getting cold. Jaw clenched, Ambrosius held the dead hand in his own.

At least the hanging was a swift death - a quick snap of the neck, and he'd been gone. Even his face had only changed color a little.

“Did he say anything?” Ambrosius found himself asking aloud, “Before they…”

“Not really.” The guard responded. “He was pretty quiet the whole time. Didn’t even say anything at the sentencing when they asked for a statement. Like he completely checked out.”

Ambrosius let that sink in.

“I should have been there for…” Ambrosius dropped the hand in order to dry his eyes. “If I hadn't taken so long…”

The guard shifted uneasily.

“I mean, we all knew what was coming. There was no stopping it.”

Ambrosius looked at Ballister's face, absolutely still, as if in an unnaturally deep sleep. How many times had Ambrosius watched him sleeping before, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest? Ambrosius wanted to shake him, as if the body would open its eyes, alive and full of life again.

“Was there any stopping it?”

Footsteps came down the hall before the guard could reply.

“Here for the body.” A man wearing the uniform of a morgue worker entered the room.

The guard jerked her head towards the gurney.

Ambrosius stood.

“I'm going with him.”

The morgue worker looked uneasy.

“Only facility personnel are allowed…” He hesitated - he dared not defy someone who was both a noble and a knight. He glanced at the guard.

The guard shrugged.

It was a short trip to the morgue. Ambrosius rode in the back of the van, holding Ballister's hand the whole way. On arrival, he followed the gurney down hallways to a room lined with furnaces. Ambrosius stared as the workers filed paperwork and transferred Ballister to a large cardboard box.

“He was a knight… He deserves a proper burial.” he found himself saying.

The workers glanced at him briefly before getting back to work.

“Orders from the top - immediate cremation.” One of them said as they wheeled the box to an open furnace.

“Wait!”

The workers stopped again.

Ambrosius stepped forward.

“Just… Give me a moment.”

He went to the box and pulled the lid back. Ballister lay there, frozen in time. Ambrosius gingerly placed a hand against the side of his cold face.

“I love you.” He whispered, too quiet for the workers to hear. “I'm so sorry…” He bit back tears.

He stood there, trying to keep himself together. Then one of the workers cleared their throat.

“We're on a schedule here.”

Ambrosius pulled back, wishing one last time that Ballister would open his eyes, that he'd just been asleep the whole time. It didn't happen.

The morgue workers replaced the lid and slid the box into the furnace, latching the door shut after it.

The furnace took over two hours to burn the body. Ambrosius watched it burn, the love of his life disappearing in front of him. Had it really been just that morning he'd seen him alive on the camera feed?

Eventually, the furnace shut off and cooled. The workers scraped the remains into a container for final processing, then scooped the ash into a plastic bag.

Ambrosius tried to intervene, asking to be given the remains.

“No. This needs to go to The Institute. Director's orders.” The worker told him.

Ambrosius felt crushed. Then the worker sighed, reached under the counter for another bag, and scooped some ash into it - no more than a handful.

“Here.” The worker held it out to Ambrosius.

Ambrosius took the bag, holding it tight in his hand.

“Thank you.”

The walk back to the dorms took forever. Everywhere Ambrosius looked, he saw a memory. Sitting on a bench together, watching the sun set behind the wall. Practicing swords drills together on the green after hours. Cracking jokes together about the food at the chow hall. Too many memories. Too much. He squeezed the bag with its handful of ash tightly. It was all he had left.

He broke down the moment he closed the door to his room. He let loose all the pain, all the grief that had piled on him that day. All the stress from the past few days since the queen's murder. Everything.

An alarm on his phone went off. Dinnertime. Ambrosius wasn’t hungry. And he definitely wasn’t ready to see anyone. Then there was a knock at the door.

“Go away!” Ambrosius yelled, his voice cracking.

The knocking came harder. Whoever it was wasn’t leaving.

Ambrosius got to his feet and stumbled to the door. “I said, go—” He threw open the door to see… no one. Ambrosius looked around. The hallway was empty. Nobody could have been knocking.

Great. Now he was hearing things. He closed the door and turned to throw himself back on his bed… But there was someone else sitting on his bed.

“What—”

The pink-haired teenager stuck a hand out. “The name’s Nimona.”