Skip to content 
“Ruth and Isaiah—bring them forward.” The words landed before the smoke from the grainery even finished curling into the sky.
Ruth stumbled as the patroller yanked her upright, her wrists already bound, her breathing uneven like she had swallowed broken glass.
Isaiah resisted for half a second longer, just enough to earn a brutal shove that drove him to his knees in the dirt.
Behind them, Mama Edna was dragged forward too slowly, her shackled hands trembling, her body folding with every step as if gravity had suddenly grown crueler.
Silas descended from the porch without haste, boots pressing into ash-streaked ground.
His gaze moved across the three of them like he was reading a ledger only he could see.
Around the yard, the remaining enslaved people stood frozen, not daring to breathe too loudly.
Even the wind seemed reluctant, as if the air itself was listening.