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Throughout the day, many more approached me — some for help with their nightmares, some to place their bets, and others to offer their thanks in the form of credits or rare food items.
The constant hum of conversations, the varying textures of different foods, the cool touch of credits, and the myriad of spices from the diverse cuisine of the galaxy provided a sensory overload.
It was all part of the daily rhythm in Ikmal.
As I navigated the narrow corridors of Ikmal, a familiar sight caught my attention.
Uhah, his withered skin pale with a slight yellow tint — a telltale sign of illness specific to his species — was seated on the floor.
Every time I saw him, a pang of guilt washed over me; he bore a constant look of sorrow and exhaustion.
His frailty seemed to weigh on him, but his eyes, clouded with memories, always gleamed with intelligence.
Approaching him, I noticed his breathing was more labored than usual, the shallow rise and fall of his chest signaling his distress.
“Some of us deserve the pain,” he murmured, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he gazed off into the distance.
Those words held more weight than any of his previous musings.
I had often wondered if Uhah’s endless nightmares were a product of his guilt.
“Uhah,” I began, trying to keep my voice gentle, “is there anything I can do to ease your suffering?”
I saw his long fingers tremble slightly, another distinct symptom of his deteriorating condition.
He offered me a weak smile. “You’ve asked me that many times, Tix, and you already know the answer.”
There was a truth in his response, a truth that stemmed from his own past and his beliefs about redemption.
I could just ask him right now, ask him about the secret exit built into Ikmal… but the words died on my lips.
It was just too risky.
Prod him and he might conceal the truth from me when I finally managed to break through his defenses.
The distant sound of inmates murmuring and the buzz of overhead lights added to the ambiance of tension.
He sighed deeply, his breath sounding raspy and dry.
The sound resonated in the quiet of the corridor. “I’m tired, Tix,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every day, the weight of memories grows heavier.”
I reached out, placing my hand gently on his shoulder, feeling the cool, papery thinness of his skin. “I’m sure things will get better,” I said. “Soon.”
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded weakly. “Maybe… but not today. I feel weary. I think I’ll take a nap.”
Glancing at the chronometer on the wall, I noticed the time — 2 p.m.
Regular as clockwork.
It was almost as if Uhah’s internal system had set itself to the rhythms of the prison.
“I’ll leave you to rest,” I said, stepping back, my heart heavy with a mix of hope and concern.
The sight of Uhah, so fragile yet so vital to our plan, was a stark reminder of the urgency of our mission.
If we failed to escape, our fate would be identical to his; dying from some illness when we were old and at our most vulnerable.
Walking away, my thoughts drifted back to Grace, the shared promise of escape, and the looming challenge ahead.
