They were free. But freedom, they would learn, is not the opposite of prison. It is a different kind of night—one where you must learn to see all over again.
For twelve years, the night did not end.
"My daughter was four when they took me. She is seven now. She will not know my voice."
But the second man laughed. A broken sound, like glass grinding under a boot. And then the third man cried. And then they all walked forward, shambling, thin as scarecrows, into a world that had moved on without them.