"..."
Then the older man cleared his throat.
"We..." he began, choosing his words with extreme care, "...saw nothing."
The younger man nodded too quickly.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
They exchanged a sidelong glance, the kind of look that carries envy, disbelief, and bitter resignation.
"Even so..." murmured the young man, almost against his will, "...how lucky."
The other let out a tired sigh.
"Lucky?" he repeated. "Imprisoned for multiple murders, dangerous as a natural disaster... and yet..."
He shook his head slowly.
"Some men are just born with it all."
"Others are born to be prison guards," replied the young man bitterly.
When silence settled again in the prison corridor, it was different from before. It wasn't heavier or more awkward—it was weary. A silence followed. The torches continued to crackle, the guards kept their eyes firmly averted from the cell, and inside, the trio had already composed themselves.
