The girl looked down at her small hands for a moment.
“Because yesterday I saw him again,” she said quietly.
Every adult in the room felt a chill run through their bodies.
“Where?” Méndez asked immediately.
“Outside the orphanage,” Salomé answered. “He came in a car and watched the gate.”
Ramira stood again abruptly, panic flooding her face.
“He’s making sure I die,” she cried. “He wants the truth buried forever!”
The guards looked toward Méndez for instructions.
The colonel remained silent for several seconds, his eyes fixed on the little girl standing beside the table.
After thirty years in prison administration, he had learned one thing above all others.
Children rarely lied about fear.
And Salomé was not speaking like a child inventing a story.
She was speaking like someone finally releasing a secret that had become too heavy to carry alone.
Méndez turned toward the guards.
“Cancel the execution order,” he said firmly.
The room exploded with reactions.
“Colonel, you can’t do that without authorization,” the social worker protested immediately.
