Year eleven arrived without ceremony. Ral was fifty-eight years old, graying and worn from prison years that felt like decades. His body carried permanent damage from attacks, inadequate medical care, and daily stress of surviving environment designed to break prisoners psychologically before releasing them physically.
"Petrov, parole board meeting scheduled for next month," administrative officer announced during routine cell check. "You've served minimum required time for parole consideration under your sentence agreement. Board will evaluate whether you're suitable for early release."
The news should have generated hope. Instead it generated anxiety. Parole meant facing board of officials who'd judge whether eleven years had reformed terrorist who'd coordinated thirty-four deaths. Mea
