He signs the treaty at dawn, ink steady, face calm.
By noon, the bridge will fall and the convoy with it.
Everyone trusts him; that is the weapon.
He tells himself the lie again:
“One city spared is worth a hundred buried”.
The radio crackles.
A child’s voice asks if the road is safe.
His pen hesitates.
Memory claws back, his oath, his brother, the night he learned loyalty can kill.
He signs anyway.
When the blast blooms, he understands the true betrayer was the man he refused to be.
And silence crowns him with victory that tastes like ash.
