Under the Lamp
Catch’s Confession, Epilogue
The city had changed. The lights were taller now. Thinner. Whiter. They hummed faintly against the night.
A man paused at the edge of a crosswalk, one foot still on the curb, the other hovering above wet pavement that reflected the lamp above him in fractured gold.
Traffic moved past in indifferent streams.
He hesitated. Not long. Just enough.
The light overhead flickered once. Then steadied.
He shifted his weight forward. His shadow stretched across the asphalt. It leaned first. The man frowned slightly and adjusted his coat.
Across the street, another figure stood beneath a second lamp. Still. Hands folded in front. Not concealed. Not imposing. Watching nothing in particular.
The first man cleared his throat and stepped off the curb. His shadow moved a fraction ahead of him. He slowed. Just slightly.
A distant laugh drifted between the buildings. Not loud. Not hysterical. Measured.
The man glanced around. No one nearby seemed to hear it.
The hum of the streetlight grew softer, then steadied again.
He reached absently toward his vest pocket. His fingers brushed metal. He paused. Did not remove it. Lowered his hand.
Across the street, the second figure had not moved. But its shadow leaned forward—before he did.
A taxi passed between them, momentarily breaking the line of sight. When it cleared, the far sidewalk stood empty.
The first man remained beneath the lamp. The second hand of the watch inside his pocket hesitated. Only briefly. Mechanically. Nothing more. He stepped into the street.
Somewhere, unseen, someone began to count.
But his shadow always moved first.
