Noose of Regret

The moonlight stretched thin through the barred windows, casting skeletal shadows over the cracked stone floor of the prison cell. Rowan Calloway sat against the damp wall, his wrists raw from iron shackles, his mind a battlefield of regret and resolve. Tomorrow, he would be hanged for murder.

They would call him a criminal, a traitor to justice. But Rowan knew the truth. He had killed a man, yes. But he had done it to save another.

It had started with a simple promise—one given in a moment of desperation, whispered in the dead of night between prison bars. "Please," the girl had pleaded, her small fingers clutching the cold iron as though they alone could keep her safe. "He's going to kill my mother. I know it. Everyone knows it. But no one will stop him."

Rowan had never met the woman, but he had known the girl’s pain. He had seen it in the way she flinched at loud voices, the way her thin frame suggested hunger was an old companion. He had seen it before—in the mirror, in the haunted eyes of his younger self. And so, without hesitation, he had promised. "I will stop him."

The man in question was Garrick Mallory—a wealthy merchant with a reputation for cruelty hidden beneath the veil of respectability. Whispers of his sins slithered through the streets like rats in the dark, but wealth and influence made him untouchable. No magistrate would move against him. No guards would intervene. And now, his wife—bruised, battered, and too afraid to flee—was to be his next victim.

So Rowan had done what no one else would. He had broken into Mallory’s lavish estate under the cover of night, knife in hand, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. He had found Mallory in his study, slouched in a high-backed chair, swirling a goblet of wine as though he hadn’t a care in the world. The room reeked of arrogance, of a man who believed himself untouchable.

There had been no words. No warning. Rowan had driven the blade into his chest, watching as shock turned to fear, then nothingness. It had been over in seconds, the weight of justice delivered not by law, but by necessity.

He had expected to feel relief. Instead, he had only felt the slow, creeping dread of inevitability.

The guards had come swiftly, too swiftly—someone had tipped them off. Rowan had barely escaped the estate before the city watch swarmed the grounds. He had run, but he had not made it far. Shackles had replaced his freedom, and now, a noose awaited him at dawn.

In the hours leading up to his execution, Rowan pieced together his betrayal. Someone had known what he intended and ensured he would never escape. Was it the widow herself, fearful of retribution from Mallory’s powerful friends? Had she sacrificed him to protect her daughter? Or was it someone within the watch, eager to rid the city of a man who had taken the law into his own hands?

None of it mattered now. He had accepted his fate.

Footsteps echoed down the prison corridor, breaking his thoughts. He looked up as the cell door creaked open. A figure slipped inside, hood drawn low over their face.

"You shouldn’t be here," Rowan murmured.

The hood fell away, revealing the girl. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but they burned with something deeper than grief—gratitude.

"I had to come," she whispered. "To say thank you. And to tell you…" She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder before pressing something into his hand. A small iron key, cool against his palm.

Rowan frowned. "What have you done?"

"The same thing you did," she said, voice fierce. "The wrong thing—for the right reason."

She took a shaky breath before continuing. "The guard who arrested you—Osric Vale. He came to our house after they caught you. Said my mother was next. That she was guilty of conspiring with you, of ordering my father’s murder. They were going to drag her away tonight." Her fingers clenched into fists. "I couldn’t let them. So I waited until he left his post. And I poisoned his wine. Not enough to kill—just enough to put him out long enough for us to run."

Rowan stared at her, processing the weight of what she had done. "You poisoned a city watchman?"

She nodded, chin lifted defiantly. "I had no choice. If I hadn’t, he’d be kicking down our door right now."

Tomorrow, justice would not be served. Not the kind the world expected. But perhaps, just perhaps, the kind it needed.

Rowan hesitated only for a moment before gripping the key tightly and pushing himself to his feet. The girl led him through the corridors, her small hands surprisingly steady as she guided him through the shadows.

"How did you—?"

"Bribed another guard," she whispered. "Took everything my mother and I had left, but I had to try."

Guilt gnawed at him, but there was no time for hesitation. They crept past slumbering guards, down a flight of stone steps slick with mildew, and out into the cold night air. A cart waited just beyond the gates, a horse hitched to its side.

The girl pressed something else into his palm—a worn leather pouch. "Take it. There's food. A little money. You’ll need to run."

"What about you?" Rowan asked.

She shook her head. "They won’t look for me. Just go."

Rowan hesitated. The city beyond was dark and sprawling, but the weight of his crimes—or rather, his actions—sat heavy on his chest. "Come with me."

"I can't," she said. "If I leave, they'll come after my mother. This way, at least, they'll believe she had no part in it."

Rowan clenched his jaw, looking at her one last time before hoisting himself into the cart. "Stay safe."

The girl stepped back, and as the first hints of dawn crept through the bars of his former cell, Rowan Calloway disappeared into the horizon—not from guilt, but toward a future where mercy held greater weight than law.

He rode hard through the outskirts of the city, knowing that the moment his absence was discovered, a manhunt would begin. As he reached the forest beyond the hills, he slowed the horse to a trot and considered his next move.

A safe house. A new name. Perhaps a new cause.

But there, in the silent woods, he wondered if his fight was truly over. He had killed for justice once. Would he do it again?

He exhaled and turned toward the unknown, carrying with him the weight of mercy, heavier than any shackles he had ever worn.

But the road ahead was not an easy one. By nightfall, wanted posters bearing his likeness would line the city streets. The guard captain, a relentless man named Osric Vale, would not rest until Rowan was in chains again. And beyond the hills, in the lawless town of Black Hollow, dangers of a different kind awaited him.

Would he find allies there? Or would his past catch up to him before he could carve out a future?

The choice had already been made: to keep running, or to stand and fight for others like the girl who had risked everything to save him. For now, he urged the horse forward, the weight of his decision pressing down like a second set of shackles.