She pauses at the door. Clad in the full uniform, weapon slung over her shoulder, the infiltrator takes one last glance into the prayer room. Behind her, the stripped body lies motionless near the window—bare legs, fallen cap, and lifeless finality. The discarded garments at the candlelit table are the only testament to what happened here. Now, she walks not as a prisoner, but as a guard—blending into the machinery she came to dismantle.
