Leon kept his eyes on the corridor when the briefing officer told him someone else would be joining his detail. The words landed hard, but he didn't let it show. For three years, he'd been the only guard assigned to this post. Now they were bringing in someone new. The tower felt different when he arrived the next morning. A fire ring sat outside the base, stones arranged in a perfect circle with fresh-cut logs laid in neat spokes. Someone had taken the time to make it look welcoming. Leon touched the badge pinned inside his coat and climbed the stairs without stopping to look. His new partner was already on the upper platform when Leon reached it. The man turned with an easy smile, hand extended. He introduced himself and asked three questions before Leon could answer the first one. He talked about the view, the forest paths, how he'd heard good things about this posting. Leon counted the exits below and gave short answers. By midday, two travelers had stopped to ask for directions. The new guard knew their names by the time they left. Leon watched him work the fire ring that evening, drawing people in with stories and laughter. Three years of silence felt heavier now that someone else had shown him what the alternative looked like.

The new guard came down from the tower just after sunset. He had that same easy smile, but it faded when he reached Leon. He glanced back toward the fire ring, then met Leon's eyes. His voice was quiet when he spoke, careful in a way it hadn't been before. "There's something you should know," his partner said. He looked uncomfortable now, shifting his weight. "The person who stopped by this morning. I'm interested. I wanted to tell you before I made a move." Leon felt the words like a hand closing around his chest. Three years of watching, waiting, keeping every feeling locked down where it couldn't interfere with the job. His partner was giving him a courtesy, nothing more. A warning that time had just run out. Leon walked past the fire ring without answering. His feet carried him to the old oak tree at the forest edge, the one with pink leaves that never fell no matter the season. Someone had arranged fallen leaves beneath it in the shape of a heart. His partner's work, probably. Leon reached inside his coat and pulled out the folded paper he'd carried for months. The letter was worn at the edges from being moved from pocket to pocket, never sent. He'd written it six months ago and rewritten it a dozen times since. Every version said the same thing in different words. He turned back toward the tower. His partner was still standing by the fire, waiting. Leon walked past him and climbed the stairs to the upper platform. He left the letter on the desk where they both worked, weighted down with a stone so it wouldn't blow away. Then he went back down and took the night watch alone. By morning, his partner would know. By morning, Leon would have to face whatever came next. But the choice was made now, and there was no taking it back.