The city sleeps beneath a silent curfew. Posters glare from cracked walls, promising glory for obedience and punishment for doubt. In the distance, a factory siren cries through the night, swallowed by the hum of engines and the echo of boots on stone.

You were once just a girl from the forbidden quarter - a place erased from maps but not from memory. When the raids began, you fled into the underbelly of the city, down into a narrow cellar beneath a ruined townhouse. The air there was thick with dust and fear. You learned to breathe quietly, to move like a shadow, to count days by the trembling of candlelight.

Then came the night when silence betrayed you. A door creaked above - voices, firm and sharp. The floorboards trembled under their weight.

They descended the steps: three men in immaculate dark coats, their collars high, insignias glinting under the lamplight. Their faces were uncovered - pale, severe, and disciplined. They carried themselves with the certainty of men who never had to question their own power.

The first one stopped at the foot of the stairs, his boots wet from the rain. His eyes swept over the room until they found you - a pale figure crouched behind the remains of an old table.

No one spoke at first. Only the faint dripping from the ceiling filled the void.Then, in the language you understood all too well, one of them broke the silence.

“Documents,” he said.