Six Weeks Later
The private wing of St. Jude's Trauma Center didn't smell like floor wax and desperation. It smelled of lilies and high-end air filtration. Sarah Miller stood outside Room 402, adjusting the lapel of her new suit. She wasn't wearing a uniform anymore; she had been appointed as the Special Liaison for Correctional Reform, a title that gave her the power to oversee the very promises she'd made on that glass bridge.
She pushed the door open. Donny was sitting in a leather armchair by the window, looking out at the city skyline. He looked different. The yellow tint of the sepsis was gone, replaced by a healthy, if pale, complexion. The surgical scars at his hairline were fading into thin, silver memories.
"You're late," Donny said, his voice stronger, the gravel replaced by a smooth, calm resonance. He didn't turn around, but she saw his reflection in the glass. He was holding a book, not a shiv.
"Paperwork," Sarah said, dropping a thick manila folder onto his lap. "The Regional Director signed the first wave of 'Neighborhood Parole' orders this morning. Lou and Johnny are being processed as we speak. They'll be back in the zip code by sunset."
Donny ran his hand over the folder, his fingers lingering on the names of the men who had been his "army." "And the condition? The geofencing?"
"It's holding," Sarah said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "They stay in the neighborhood. They work the community programs we've funded with the seized 'Gold' assets. The Warden's offshore accounts are currently paying for a new youth center on 5th Street. It's poetic justice, Donny."
Donny finally looked at her. The amnesia had left some holes—he still couldn't remember the name of his third-grade teacher or the taste of his mother's cooking—but he remembered the way Sarah had looked in the dark on the Bridge.
"And the North?" Donny asked.
"The North is a ghost town," Sarah replied. "Halloway and Riley took plea deals. They're testifying. Which brings me to the other reason I'm here."
She turned on the television mounted to the wall.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, laminated card. It wasn't an inmate ID. It was a Discharge Order and a new driver's license.
"The car is downstairs," she said. "The neighborhood is waiting for their King. But I told them they have to share you with the woman who caught the Warden."
Donny took the card, his thumb brushing over his own name. Donny Moretti. Free Man.
"Let's go home, Sarah," he whispered.
As they walked out of the hospital together, the "No-Badge" rule didn't just feel broken—it felt irrelevant. The war was over, the ledger was closed, and for the first time in their lives, the horizon didn't have bars across it. Turns out home would have to wait. Donny was immediately transferred to another facility on the day of his release to start intense physical rehabilitation therapy.
Another Six Weeks Later
Sarah stood by the window of Donny's room. The news on the muted television showed the final verdict: Valenti and the Warden were both being sent to a maximum-security facility upstate—not Blackwood. They were being sent to a place where they had no friends and no "Gold" to buy them.
"They're gone, Donny," Sarah said, turning back to him.
Donny was standing by the bed, practicing his gait without the walker. He was slow, his movements deliberate as he navigated the neuro-rehabilitation process, but he was upright. He looked at the discharge papers on the table. He'd only gotten to see Sarah and the doctors since his release and was ready to finally go home.
"And the neighborhood?" Donny asked.
"How are Lou and Johnny holding up?"
"Lou is running the youth boxing gym on 4th," Sarah said, walking over to help him with his jacket. "And Johnny... Johnny is working for the city's oversight committee.
He's the one making sure no one ever hides a ledger in an oxygen tank again. They're staying in the zip code, just like we agreed."
She helped him into his coat, her hands lingering on his shoulders. The air between them was different now—no bars, no "No-Badge" rules, just the quiet weight of everything they had survived.
"The Warden thought the 'Gold' was the money," Donny said, looking at Sarah. "Valenti thought it was the power. But the 'Gold' was always the people who wouldn't break."
"Let's go, Donny," Sarah whispered. "The car is downstairs. Sal is probably honking already."
As they walked out of the hospital, the sun was hitting the city skyline, casting everything in a warm, amber glow. Sarah didn't look back at the hospital, and Donny didn't look back at the memories of the cell. They walked toward the car, two people who had rewritten the rules of a broken system, heading back to the neighborhood that was finally, truly, theirs. Donny stopped and just took in the sun, grateful to be free and even more grateful to go home.