The sun broke through the pines at dawn, golden and soft, like it didn't know Alcolu was holding its breath. A thin mist clung to the church roof, the mill gate, the dirt road that led past the county jail.
By midmorning, the road wasn't empty anymore.
It started with the neighbors — three women in Sunday dresses, baskets on their hips, standing by the fence near the sheriff's office. Then came a few men off their shift from the mill, sleeves rolled, eyes shifting toward the door like they might see the boy through the brick.
By noon, a crowd gathered on the steps — not angry yet, but thick enough to feel like a warning. Mamas with babies, old men with canes, young boys who watched their daddies stand tall for once.
---
Inside, Sheriff Hammond sat at his desk, the telegram from Columbia unfolded in his fist — the governor's order stamped neat and official:
"Present Ikrist Raya for medical transfer at once."
Hammond read it again, the words smudged from the sweat of his thumb. He slammed it down so hard his coffee cup rattled off the edge and shattered on the floor.
Croft stood at the door, keys on his hip, eyes locked on the sheriff's hands.
"You gonna obey it?" Croft asked, voice like gravel in the hush.
Hammond's eyes snapped up — sharp, bloodshot, mean.
"You open that cell, Deputy," he growled, "and I swear I'll drag you in there to rot beside him."
---
Outside, Elijah Carter stood on the steps with Silas Pratt at his shoulder. The governor's man, young and pale in a stiff gray suit, shifted from foot to foot like he'd never seen so many eyes at once.
"You sure they'll back down?" the governor's aide asked, glancing at the crowd pressing in behind him.
Elijah's jaw tightened. "They ain't here to back down. They're here to watch — so Hammond can't bury another truth in that cell."
Silas leaned close, voice low. "One crack, Elijah. That's all it takes. Keep him talking. Keep 'em watching."
---
When the courthouse clock struck noon, Anna Raya stepped through the crowd. She wore her Sunday dress — the same one she'd worn at Ikrist's baptism, the same one she'd scrubbed by hand a hundred times because no dirt deserved to cling to it.
She climbed the jail steps, stood beside Elijah, and faced the locked door like it was just another wall she'd been born to break through.
Croft met her eyes through the bars on the door's small window — a flicker of shame and something stronger. He slipped the keys from his belt and turned them slow, careful not to rattle the sheriff's storm too fast.
---
Inside, Ikrist lay half awake, fever sweat damp on his brow. When Croft pushed the door open, light spilled across his cot for the first time in weeks.
Anna knelt beside him, voice soft as a hymn.
"Mama's here, baby. Mama's right here."
Ikrist's eyes fluttered open. He saw her face, blurry but bright, and for the first time in days, his small mouth tugged a half-smile through the pain.
---
Hammond's boots slammed down the hall.
He burst through the doorway, breath harsh, hand dropping to the pistol at his belt.
"You close that cell!" he barked at Croft. "Lock it now!"
Croft stepped in front of Anna and Ikrist, body tense, voice steady. "No, sir. This boy's leaving today. By the governor's order. By the people's eyes."
---
Outside, the crowd pressed closer to the steps. Whispers turned to voices — low, steady, angry.
"Let the boy out."
"Ain't yours to bury."
"We watchin', Sheriff."
---
For a heartbeat, Sheriff Hammond's hand hovered on his gun, sweat shining on his temple. He looked through the bars — past Croft, past Anna, past Ikrist's small shape on the cot — and he saw the people outside. He saw what they'd do if he spilled blood now.
His hand dropped from his belt. His breath came in a sharp hiss through clenched teeth.
"Get him outta my jail," he spat. "But don't think this is over."
---
Croft lifted Ikrist in his arms like he weighed nothing at all. Anna pressed her hand to her boy's back, whispering soft prayers through her tears.
They stepped out onto the jailhouse steps together — Croft, Anna, Elijah, Silas — and the crowd parted like the Red Sea, murmurs rising like a hymn no badge could quiet.
Ikrist Raya saw the sun on his face again. He heard his mama's voice in his ear. He felt the rough cloth of Croft's coat against his cheek, warm, real, alive.
---
And behind them, Sheriff Hammond watched from the shadowed doorway — a man made small by the truth he couldn't lock away anymore.