—This is not wear and tear — he muttered —. This is done.
They had broken through part of the wall. Behind it was a narrow maintenance tunnel. Old. Forgotten. But not abandoned: recent traces, cables, a flashlight taped to it, footsteps.
The tunnel led, like a secret vein, to another penitentiary a few kilometers away, under a terrain considered safe. The worst part was not that it existed. But that someone had used it… and kept it a secret.
That night they installed hidden cameras at the entrance, without notifying the regular guards. Chiriac insisted:
— If someone knows, it means it’s from the inside.
The night was long.
Ximena didn’t go home. She stayed in the monitoring room, her eyes glued to the screens. A cold wind was blowing outside, and the silence inside was oppressive.
At first, nothing.
The hours passed slowly. The coffee was cooling in plastic cups. Chiriac didn't blink. He was waiting.
At 2:17 in the morning, one of the cameras caught a movement.
Shadows.
A silhouette.
Then another.
"Wait... back up," Ximena whispered.
The image was slowly scrolled. A man was emerging from the tunnel. Dressed in uniform. With an ID around his neck.
"It can't be..." she muttered.
Chiriac zoomed in. The face became clear.
It was a guard.
One of the old ones. Respected. Trusted.
After him, two more.
They were moving quickly. Sure. As if they had done this dozens of times.
"It's not improvisation," Chiriac said quietly. "It's organized."
A few minutes later, one of the inmates was brought into the laundry room. She wasn't walking alone. She was being dragged.
Ximena felt sick.
— Stop them… we have to stop them!
— Not yet — Chiriac said—. We need complete proof.
The images continued. Enough to leave no doubt.
It wasn't an incident. It was a network.
When the intervention began, it was quick and harsh.
Masks, lights, short orders.
The tunnel was blocked. The guards were handcuffed. Some tried to escape. They had nowhere to go.
In the morning, the penitentiary was a different place.
The silence was different.
There was no longer blind fear. It was the calm after the storm.
Director CΔlinescu was taken for questioning. It seems she knew. Or at least she suspected. And she had chosen to remain silent.
Ximena walked through the wards that day. The inmates looked at her differently.
She wasn’t just the nurse anymore.
She was the one who didn’t close her eyes.
Rebeca took her hand.
“Thank you…” she said softly.
Ximena didn’t answer right away. She looked around. The walls were the same. The doors were the same.
But something had changed.
The truth had come out.
And for the first time in a long time, in that closed place, someone had the courage to breathe.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real people, living or deceased, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intentional by the author.
The author and publisher assume no responsibility for the accuracy of the events or the portrayal of the characters, and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided "as is" and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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