"I am."
Wallace laughed.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"You didn't come here to survive."
Alcides looked at him.
"You came here to learn how to live with yourself."
Alcides smiled.
"Maybe you're right."
Wallace stood.
"Take care of Tommy."
"I will."
"And Deacon?"
Alcides looked toward the gym.
"He'll be okay."
Wallace extended his hand.
Alcides shook it.
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Wallace."
The next morning, Wallace walked through the prison gates.
Alcides watched from the window.
Freedom looked strange from inside.
Then his own parole hearing arrived.
He sat before the board.
The chairman looked at his file.
"You were once a world champion."
"Yes."
"You lost everything."
"Yes."
"Do you regret what you did?"
Alcides took a breath.
"Every day."
"Do you believe you deserve freedom?"
He thought for a long time.
"Deserve is complicated."
The chairman raised an eyebrow.
"Explain."
"I can't undo what I did."
"No."
"I can't bring Gabriel back."
"No."
"But I can make sure the rest of my life isn't another act of revenge."
The chairman studied him.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I choose what happens next."
The board granted parole.
Alcides didn't celebrate.
He simply closed his eyes.
And breathed.
In.
Hold.
Out.
The same way he had on his first day in Blackridge.
Only now, the walls were no longer closing around him.
They were behind him.
The Man Who Walked Away
Alcides left Blackridge on a cold morning.
His hair was slightly gray.
His shoulders were thinner.
His eyes were calmer.
He carried one small bag.
That's all that remained of his prison years.
At the gate, Warden Hale waited.
"You don't have to say anything."
Hale smiled.
"I know."
They shook hands.
"You changed this place."
Alcides shook his head.
"People changed themselves."
Hale looked toward the prison.
"Maybe."
Alcides stepped outside.
For a few seconds, he simply stood there.
Cars passed.
Birds flew overhead.
The wind touched his face.
Freedom was quieter than he expected.
Then he heard a familiar voice.
"Champion."
Alcides turned.
Victor Kane stood beside a car.
Victor had once been a professional boxer and had spent years inside Blackridge.
Now he trained young fighters.
He held an old pair of boxing gloves.
Alcides laughed.
"You still have those?"
"You gave them to me."
"I don't remember."
"I do."
Victor handed him the gloves.
"What now?"
Alcides looked at the city.
"I don't know."
"Boxing?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Alcides smiled.
"Teaching."
"Who?"
"Anyone who needs to learn."
They drove to a small community gym.
Inside were children training.
Young men learning footwork.
An old punching bag hung from the ceiling.
Victor introduced Alcides.
"This is the man I told you about."
A young boxer approached.
"Are you really the Quiet Storm?"
Alcides smiled.
"That was a long time ago."
"Can you teach me how to knock people out?"
Alcides shook his head.
"No."
The boy looked disappointed.
"I can teach you something better."
"What?"
"How not to need to."
The boy frowned.
Alcides stepped onto the floor.
"Stand here."
The boy raised his fists.
"Relax."
The boy lowered his shoulders.
"Again."
He raised them.
"Now breathe."
The boy inhaled.
Alcides smiled.
"Good."
Outside, the sun began to set.
Inside the gym, the first lesson continued.
Years later, people would tell stories about Alcides Mercer.
They would talk about his championship.
His perfect footwork.
His famous victories.
Some would talk about the night he defeated Deacon Brooks inside Blackridge.
Others would remember the riot.
But Wallace Ford remembered something else.
He remembered the first day.