Despite my determination, my legs feel like gelatin as Igor leads me down an unfamiliar hallway. We’re moving away from the interrogation room, which means the guard wasn’t lying.
Something different is happening today.
“This way,” Igor says, tugging me toward a set of double doors. As we approach, they swing open for us, and I blink at the sudden flood of blinding light.
Sunlight.
It’s warm and pure on my skin, so unlike the cold fluorescence of the prison lights. The air wafting in through those doors is different too. It’s fresher, full of scents that speak of city in the spring and have nothing to do with desperation and human suffering.
“Here she is,” Igor says, pushing me through the doors, and to my shock, a woman’s voice repeats his words in Russian-accented English.
Squintin
