The prison gate opened with a sound that should have meant hope.
Hope felt nothing.
The iron doors slid apart slowly, sunlight spilling into the corridor like something foreign and unwelcome. He squinted, not because it was bright—but because he had forgotten how to look at a world that did not confine him.
"Hope Hale," the warden said flatly. "By executive order of the president, you are hereby granted a full pardon."
The words floated past him.
A pardon.
Not innocence. Not forgiveness.
Just release.
Hope signed the papers without reading them. His hands were steady. They always were. Prison had taught him that shaking changed nothing.
When he stepped outside, the air felt too wide.
People waited beyond the gate—reporters, protesters, spectators hungry for a glimpse of the monster who had slaughtered five boys with his bare hands. Cameras rose instantly.
"Do you feel remorse?"
"Was it worth it?"
"Are you dangerous to society?"
Hope walked forward without answering.
Then someone stepped into his path.
His sister.
She looked thinner than he remembered. Older. The years had sharpened her face, carved exhaustion into her eyes. She wore no smile.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she turned away.
"Come on," she said. "Don't make them stare longer than necessary."
That night, reality settled in.
No landlord would rent to him. No company would hire him. Even the shelters turned him away once they recognized his name.
"He's that murderer," people whispered. "The one from the case."
Hope listened silently.
At their tiny rented room, his sister collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"You know," she said after a long pause, "freedom doesn't mean forgiveness."
"I know," Hope replied.
She turned her head slightly. "You live because you choose to. Not because the world wants you to."
Hope nodded.
That night, sirens screamed endlessly outside.
On the cracked television, a news anchor spoke with a trembling voice.
"—reports of unexplained phenomena continue to rise. Authorities urge citizens to remain calm—"
Hope watched.
Something in his chest tightened.