I do not have the luxury of being suspicious, yet this glow, appearing in the darkness, in the center of which I struggle, seems too alluring, too perfect. I know Shin is a dangerous man, quick to fool, cheat, and lie for money, without any remorse. I just know that he is patient and usually waits until his target is desperate to offer to help him, without him being able to refuse. Still, Ho-Jin trusted him.

I pretend to think like I have a choice. As if deciding to take my brother's place in a life of servitude, which would certainly be worse than anything I have ever known, would redeem my conscience, make me appear nobler and less cowardly.

"Karen, was she part of your...?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"Ho-Jin made arrangements for your wife too," Shin says sarcastically. "Either way, you're not really in a position to negotiate, it seems to me."

"The slaves wait by the dozen in front of the dispensary for the slightest opportunity to get their hands on us. How can you imagine making us leave Freetown under these conditions? I do not even understand the fact that you are not on this list..."

"It's true that it's quite ironic that my name isn't on it. You never liked me much, but I know that you are even more angry with me in view of this fact, which in short, sums up the reasons for your aversion: I am feared in Freetown, by the slaves, by neo-FreeRush, by Salvi, by all these other gangs. Even if they had managed to put me on this list without creating a diplomatic incident, no one would allow themselves to lay a hand on me. If he'd been more involved in my business, I could have given Ho-Jin that same kind of protection before it all got out of hand."

I swallow my saliva with difficulty, avoiding his gaze.

"In three hours, a shipment of North Korean slaves bound for the Port Newark-Elizabeth Marine Terminal is due to stop here, so that my last recruits can be part of the journey to Pyongyang. You will then be separated, your family and you, you will join two different boats, one going to Canada, the other to North Korea. Before you ask, no, there is no shorter or safer path; almost all states or nations around us are enslaved by the BC19 program. According to what we had agreed on with Ho-Jin during a last conversation, you should have been gone two hours ago. This means that I have fallen behind in my dealings with the Korean government. If in three hours you refuse to board, then it all will be over."

I lean down to look at the face that has quietly approached the doorway of the last door in the hallway. Shin then turns around, slightly inclines his head at the height of Mohamed, presents him his greetings by the slave tradition, his hands joined in infinity on his chest. Then he goes to sit on one of the old chairs in what has been the dispensary's disorderly waiting room. With his phone on his ear, he detaches himself completely from us, talking agitatedly to his interlocutor in the language that Ho-Jin uses when he wants to make fun of me so that I could not understand him. Karen appears, in turn, supporting my little sister with difficulty.

"Please, there is nothing to discuss, let me..."

"Can you hear yourself? What will we do in Canada, free, but without any resources, without money, without knowledge, without means, with our hands stained with murder?" Imane intervenes. "We will always have to hide because of Canadian police officers and American inspectors..."

"You will live," I reply again. "You will survive..."

"And you, you... you will die, that's for sure," Karen whispers.

My father, who has his head bowed so far, turns with his chair. He sobs softly. It is the first time that I see my old idol in such a state. Even when children at the orphanage die because of COVID-19, he does not cry. Reaching out to me, he has a guilty smile.

"I have, I have... friends in Canada who may be able to help us. Maybe that is too optimistic; I will have to find a way to reach them and make it clear that they will be considered guilty by joining in our affairs. If they accept..."

"Yes, yes, you told me about them... Jill and Mai, right?" I say, grabbing his hand, crouching in front of his knees."

"You cannot let him do this, dad," my sister cries.

"Imane..."

"I will never forgive you, Kanoa," she adds after a few moments.

I also take her hand in mine. The relief, which I feel, seems so paradoxical, I am almost happy at this moment. Not to have to quarrel, to present my arguments to my family. We got lost lately, unable to understand each other, to hear each other. It is dramatic that the only thing that has made us grasp the tyranny and the weight, the violent and essential nature of the bond between us, is the feeling of being faced with imminent death. With this bond, as with any commitment of love, comes the aversion, the misfortune, the hardship of seeing it slowly perish, of becoming an addicted slave to it, of excusing it everything, even murder. Always peremptory, absolute, almost authoritarian and despotic, limitless, extremely modest, this is what the unsaid things, the lies, has concealed from our attachment.

"You will... you will have everything you deserve, okay? Mohamed, you will become a famous author, the reference of all Activists. You will continue to be the inspiration, the model of an entire community. Karen, you will become the doctor whom all slaves are waiting for, the one who will prove that COVID-19 is just a myth and make accessible the vaccine to us too. You will heal Ho-Jin, who will be the most beautiful dancer whom this Earth has ever seen. Imane, you will become president of the planet as your qualities, your sense of justice always meant for you to be. And I... I will survive and find you, okay? This is our plan."

No one answers because what I have just said is so fanciful and absurd. Even a child would perceive the gravity of the situation because of our prostrate faces and refrain from evoking his wishes in this puzzling, light, stereotypical way as if we were in a movie. Nevertheless, I do not regret these words. If they do not bring the revolution, the courage, the ardor, and the tenacity in the same way as the speech of Martin Luther King Doe — a slave assassinated for having a dream —, they will prove to the people that I consider the most in my world, that I too dared to dream of our freedom. To aspire to our elevation, to our success, until the very end.

A thud, followed by a scream, comes from the lobby, and I believe all my resolutions are shattered because we are finished. Shin either deceived us, or the slaves gave in to threats from the government. We are, the four of us, rooted to the spot, but the sound is repeated. Shin gets up to go towards Ho-Jin's room; I intercept him. We open the door to find him on the floor. With every inch on which he moves, a new stain appears on his bandages. I bend down to lift his bust, resting his head on my thigh. He is shaking, and the trembling itself seems to put him through excruciating pain. I take his hand gently. He seeks to tighten his fingers on my embrace, to no avail.

"Oh my... What did I got myself into!" Shin murmurs before hurrying out.

He does not even make an effort to hide his disgusted look when he encounters Ho-Jin's face. We hear him in the hallway, screaming even louder on the phone. Imane hides her face behind Karen's shoulder, who takes her outside.

"I am going to find Caregiver Troy," I whisper.

"No, we should no longer ask the community for help. We are depriving all of them of their Liberation. We have the right to defend ourselves, but it would not be fair to them. And Caregiver Troy did enough, without showing an ounce of anger against us, only empathy. Perhaps his Hippocratic Oath, when he was still a Master, before this fatal medical error, really means something to him."

At such a time, it must be an unbearable exercise to think in the way that he does — remaining the Mohamed with the facade so smooth that no ignominy seems to hang on it. I did, however, discover that there are loopholes in this wall, which I refused to see before. Still, Mohamed had, in his fight for the slaves, enslaved himself by agreeing to take my father's place, threatened with being beaten to death by the police, during a demonstration. It must eternally make him count among the firmly good people if such a category of individuals exists in our society. He must understand better than we do the stakes concerning Freetown's situation.

As for me, I do not manage, at least not yet, to feel remorse, faced with the fact of having to choose my family rather than the slaves of New York. There are other things that my conscience must pay for first, starting with the murder, which we committed in the name of freedom. I wait patiently for the Form of Mistress Salvi to return. In my new life, she will be my only companion. Should I ever curse my fortune, she will remind me that I took a life, and I always have to suffer for that reason. Far from loved ones, who have the power to dilute and attenuate the pain, alone with my sharp conscience.

Ho-Jin's neck, in an invisible crack, tilted his head to my side, completely presenting his disfigured face to me. I force myself to watch him with care because I know now that our time together is limited. Also, my biggest fear at this moment is that he will never be able to communicate again, in any way. He who dreams of developing this faculty of excelling in the art of conveying his emotions through movement... is he only aware of his body? On the other hand, although it is more superficial, how will he react to this new aspect, he, slaves of appearances, which have always been like a rigid prison against him? This is more futile but much more important to him.

A small voice deep inside me whispers to me, confesses that I took his dream and his beauty from him out of jealousy. I harmed him and my sister, unconsciously, maybe even consciously, intentionally. I envied them, and this is how that dull, silly, noisy covetousness got translated into reality. Besides the ridiculous, insignificant bump on my head, I am the only one who is not in physical pain.

"Is there really nothing we can do?" I question my father, very suddenly, to run away from those thoughts and get in on the action.

"The ambulance driver told Caregiver Troy that with the level of care which we have access to as a slave, it would be a miracle if he ever spoke again."

"You will stop being slaves soon, dad, so make sure he becomes what he has always dreamed of," I oppose again as if the belief in that thought could catch up with what science, my conscience, and my actions have already condemned. "The only thing that he ever wanted was to make you proud, even if he had troubles showing it. He always thought that you were not supportive of his dance projects, so please..."

"I appreciate your new hope, Kanoa, but you know what it is about in the real life. How seriously are our chances of not dying before the end of this day? Our chances of arriving in Canada alive, through the vast waters of the Atlantic Ocean? Our chances of you getting to Korea?"

"It is too late to be pessimistic. No matter how much you repeat it to me, I cannot change what was done. Our only chance is actually to hope. You have no right; you cannot afford and allow yourself to doubt."

I lift Ho-Jin, carry him with difficulty to the bed, not blaming myself as I often do, for the weakness of my body. I no longer expect my father to see things as I see them truly. Nevertheless, formulating my deep thoughts aloud gives me a glimpse that the self-forgiveness, the ego's redemption is possible. There is nothing to transcend from the crime; no foundation made of murder, selfishness, and guilt will support a decent framework. Still, "as long as life remains, we must persevere," said Revolutionary Freetown, in the years and peaceful nuances of his ideology.

My father, who suddenly seems to be completely focused on the screen of his phone, turns to the bed to hand it to me. He is surprised, says nothing, and lets me discover the contact who is trying to reach him. I am stunned as I decrypt the name.

"Mr. Mohamed Abdi Doe, please do not hang up; I now know that it was you who sent me all this! I just want to ask you if Kanoa is..." Sky starts.

"The police let me go."

There is a little silence on the other end of the phone. I want to continue, but she seems to intervene, and we speak at the same time. I cannot help but smile. I wait for her to talk.

"I assure you that I did everything I could to hold them back!"

"I know, thank you for that," I say, my mood completely swinging to annoyance.

We both know that there was nothing more she could have done; however, she has to highlight it, to showcase for me her guilt in order to ease her conscience. I know this ploy, I studied it many times, and I used it myself.

"Are you still in the hospital?" I resume, now eager to lead the conversation.

"My father came back quickly and did everything he could to get me out... and out of the country. My mom must be devastated. But, we don't care about this, Kanoa! How are you? What did the police say to you?" she finally shouts, regaining control over our exchange.

"I... I did terrible things, you know, and I am not finished yet."

"Are you talking about that woman? Did you kill her then?"

This detached tone, light as that of a child who does not discern what is behind the concept, the idea of ​​death, infuriates me. She does not realize it, and it appears like voyeurism; she seems to be calling to know the latest gossip in Freetown.

"I do not think that I can tell you anything else," I finally let go.

"You don't trust me anymore? I want to help you, Kanoa, but I can't do it if you don't tell me everything! You didn't take the money I left for you, what's wrong? Is it your ego?" she gets angry, as I silently reproach her, once again, for acting as if it is about her, about her good conscience, while it is the life of the members of my family that I would like us to care about.

"It is too late, Sky."

"I don't know what's going on, but you don't seem in the proper state of mind or willing to listen to me. Regardless, I want you to preciously keep my new phone number, okay?"

There we are, back to those violent exchanges, ridiculously wrapped in courtesy, ridiculously passive-aggressive, because she guesses, in this spectacular way, the true content of my thoughts that are out of sync with the words which I use. It is a gift for such an honest person, costing her many compromises with her conscience. However, this is also proof that my criticisms have a foundation.

She talks about the address through which I can reach her, going as far as sharing the contact details of her father's apartment in Montreal. She tries to explain to me, embarrassed, how he benefited from the help regarding special clauses of his enfranchisement, but I cannot really figure it out. I just understand that their situation does not apply to ours, as they never really got to be enslaved again. After a while, she ends up hanging up when she perceives that I am not reacting in the way that she wants me to. These are our true farewells.

I give his phone back to Mohamed, who did not leave for the duration of the call. I see that he does not dare question me; I try a quick summary.

"She is fine; her father was able to get her to join the non-enslaving area of ​​Montreal. The police have not contacted her again. I did not tell her about our plans, but she would be ready to help us. Save this number; it might be crucial for you."

"If only we had had more time..." he says as he moves away towards the hall.

He quickly returns to the room, accompanied by Shin.

"I still do not see how you are going to get us through this throng of slaves, to your transport, unopposed. Imane can barely walk, and Ho-Jin..."

"There is no way we go through this crowd! You... are illegals from now on, illegal travelers, you have to think like ones!" Shin retorts to my father. "No one has ever seen my recruits leave Freetown."

He glances at Ho-Jin and me.

"And they say that slaves are insane! You really have to be a twisted Master-Avenger to do this kind of thing! Even myself don't go that far. Anyway, tell your family to stop bothering me, especially your little wife! We have a deal; I'll come let you know when the truck is there."

He leaves the room again, and it is Imane's turn to enter it. Until then, she was unable to approach our brother. She comes to take my place at his bedside and, more courageously than me, bring her face to his, placing a sneaky kiss on what I think is his eyelid. She keeps her hand in his and does not take her eyes off him anymore.

Time passes slowly, feeding my anxiety. Despite the silence that reigns around the dispensary, I fear at any moment that we are ambushed. Each rustle of sheets, coughing fit, and whining tighten my muscles, straining my spine, stiffening even my thoughts, and freezing me completely. I keep myself active. Going back and forth between the hall and the bedroom, conversing briefly with Shin, avoiding Karen, while sharing words that want to be reassuring with my brother, then my sister, encouraging my father, who remains glued to his phone. At least he seems to accept his role in trying to join his network, to ask for help. All of these prevent me from overthinking the gravity of the situation, of the full consequence of our actions, and my responsibilities.

Freetown is dirty, unsanitary, resentful, and treacherous, but it is all that we have ever known. For a slave, the wide world is full of promises which blind him, drive him away, prevent him from seeing the dangers and uncertainty clearly. I was aware of this, even as I discussed our plan to escape with the Grinbergs. I did not have a romanticized idea of it; simply, I avoided showing my fear to my brother, of course. Nonetheless, I was excited to apprehend difficulties that were no longer related to my status as a slave.

Now, as for me, I do not even leave this life of bondage. In North Korea, the difference between a slave and a citizen is a matter of terminology. In practice, everyone is treated as less than a human, Ho-Jin often tells me. So, I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that my family finds these blinding promises and that I will truly have something to be envious of them.

I do not want to tell Shin about it yet, but I need to know if Ho-Jin has established in their contract that he will be able to have a means of communication to reach us. I am at this point in my thoughts, huddled up on the floor, near the bed, when Shin walks in, one hand in his pocket, the other on his phone. At one point, his gaze silently asks me about the certainty of our final decision.

I nod my head.