Days after the incident, Candado, Hammya, and Héctor were summoned to the trial of Samanta Ferrero. It was the first trial against one of the Agents, and consequently, it was televised. A large portion of the city was present to witness it.

  In Kanghar, justice is the only branch of the State still controlled by adults. This is because, on numerous occasions, appointing a child as a judge led to sentences being softened out of compassion. However, to prevent adults from gaining complete influence in that sector, the Congress is the body that votes on and appoints the judges.

  The decision dated back to 1971, when a man had the brilliant—and dangerous—idea of staging a coup d'état. He came close to succeeding, but the Candados (the force loyal to the constitutional order) deposed and executed him for rising against the people from the judiciary.

  But setting aside the nation's historical moments, let us return to the essential.

  In high-profile or especially sensitive cases, Kanghar’s justice system operates behind closed doors. Both the defense and the prosecution remain anonymous, as does the accused, to prevent any form of reprisal, social pressure, or undesired consequences.

  When the accused is a figure widely repudiated by public opinion, the procedure is even more cautious. If the court declares them innocent, the sentence is delivered without media presence, and the individual is advised to leave Kanghar for a time until the social fervor subsides.

  Conversely, if the evidence is sufficient and the person is found guilty, then the final stages of the trial are made public, intended to show that the system has acted and that justice has prevailed in the face of popular demand.

  Samanta was the first woman to be tried for compelling crimes, with evidence that directly incriminated her. What many didn't know was that she did have a defense, but as previously mentioned, she was alone in that room.

  "It doesn't seem fair to me," Héctor commented.

  "That's because we're not a moral justice system, Ramírez. We are a system that condemns and punishes," Candado replied.

  "But even so..."

  "What is it, Héctor?" Candado asked, sinking into his seat with a tired body but an intact voice. "I thought you detested the Agents."

  "And I do detest them," Héctor responded, straightforwardly. "But only her? Was it truly necessary to activate the cleanup protocol at that headquarters?"

  Candado scratched his cheek, pensive, his expression unchanged.

  "There was a survivor. She is enough."

  "They were people, Candado..." Héctor insisted, crossing his arms, a frown etched on his face.

  "People who knew too much, people whose hands didn't shake when they conducted their experiments, people who were conscious of their work. Yes, Héctor, people. People who chose a side, a nefarious side."

  Héctor met his gaze, firm.

  "We are not here to decide who lives or dies. Our job is to change things, not to drag ourselves through the same rot we are trying to eradicate."

  Candado let out a brief, almost detached sigh.

  "There are people who shouldn't walk free or breathe the same air as you and me, Héctor. That is the reality, whether you like it or not."

  "Perhaps. But it is not our place to judge as executioners. If we forget that, we are worse than them."

  Candado gave him a side glance, slightly annoyed. He sighed again.

  "I knew something like this would happen," he said, getting up abruptly. "Gervasio!"

  A young man in the crowd turned and approached him.

  "What can I do for you, Candado... Canda... Barret?"

  Candado pulled a folder from under his chair and handed it over.

  "Send this to the jury and the judges."

  "Understood."

  Gervasio ran off.

  "What was that?" Héctor asked.

  "My gift," Candado replied, as he sat back down, his gaze fixed on the accused's back. "And my scarce generosity."

  Thirty minutes later, the judges entered. They didn't need to demand silence; their mere presence was enough to hush everyone. Not a murmur was heard.

  "Good morning, members of the jury and witnesses. Today, September 9, 2013, the sentencing of the accused Samanta Ferrero begins."

  "I don't see the lawyer meant to defend me," she said, raising her voice from her seat.

  "Of course not. Samanta Ferrero," the judge stood up. "By the power granted to me by law and the most excellent Harambee, you are sentenced to twenty-five years in prison."

  Samanta nearly fainted. Some of the attendees began to celebrate... until the judge raised his hand, demanding silence.

  "Nevertheless..."

  Candado adjusted himself in his chair, fingers crossed in tension.

  "Due to the circumstances and the events of September 7, 2013, your testimony and cooperation in dismantling one of the Agents' networks have been taken into account by the jury. Under the power conferred upon me by my office and that of my colleagues, I declare that, although the initial sentence was twenty-five years—and Harambee forgive me, I personally wish you would never leave prison—it is fair to acknowledge that your cooperation will prevent future victims of those murderers. Therefore, the jury, through a special request, has proposed to show some leniency in the sentence."

  A murmur swept through the room like a contained sigh.

  "Silence, please. I am not finished," the judge ordered.

  The public quieted down once more.

  "That being said, the sentence is reduced to twelve years and five months, with no possibility of parole, in addition to an auxiliary punishment of one year without receiving family, conjugal, or friendly visits."

  "THAT IS AN INJUSTICE!" one of the attendees shouted.

  The hall erupted in shouts, protests, and a collective rage that seemed ready to break the building's foundations.

  Candado subtly raised his index and middle fingers. Héctor, watching closely, noticed the gesture. It was a signal for the guards to protect the accused, now officially the guilty party: Samanta Ferrero.

  "THESE ANIMALS DON'T DESERVE EVEN PITY!"

  "WE WANT JUSTICE FOR OUR CHILDREN!"

  Candado brought his hand to his eyes and began to massage his face, exhausted.

  "I knew this was going to happen..."

  He stood up and, without looking at anyone, left the courtroom.

  "Where are you going?" Héctor asked, following him.

  "To eat."

  "But..."

  "This is the most I can do. The rest... they have to resolve it."

  Héctor caught up with him, nearly breathless.

  "This is what you planned, wasn't it?"

  "No. I did what I had to do. I knew this would happen if I handed that folder to the court. I considered hiding it... but that would betray my personal code: always tell the truth."

  "So you did it for justice?"

  "That doesn't exist, Héctor. This is a judicial and legal system, not a system of justice. Justice... only exists in the Bible and morality."

  "But..."

  "We both know that true justice would be those parents being able to hug their children again. But that is never going to happen. This... this is just a way to calm, a little, their already dead souls."

  As they walked down the courthouse corridor, a little girl rushed toward them. It was Inés Ferrero. Without stopping, she planted herself in front of Candado and delivered a slap so forceful that his beret flew off and landed in Héctor's hands.

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  "You're the one who took my mother away from me," she accused in a firm voice, though her eyes were trembling.

  Candado slowly turned his head and looked her in the eyes. Even with his cheek burning red, he didn't utter a sound of pain.

  "That stings," he said, calmly rubbing his face. "Have a good day, Inés."

  He walked past her, retrieving his beret from Héctor's hands without looking back.

  "What do you want to eat, Héctor?"

  "Huh? Candado, I don't think now is the time..."

  But Inés was not finished.

  With her face streaming tears and her fist clenched, she charged at him again. Candado deliberately turned his back, expecting the impact on his spine... but Héctor noticed before he did: the blow was aimed not at his back, but at the back of his neck.

  "Stop," Héctor said, grabbing her hand. "Please, let's calm down, okay?"

  "Let me go!"

  Candado turned back to them.

  "I will if you calm down," Héctor attempted to appease her.

  But Inés was already beyond control.

  "I told you to let go of me!"

  "Please... I just want to help you..."

  In the struggle, Inés broke free and hit him.

  Her small fist impacted directly on Héctor's nose. He instantly released his grip and brought both hands to his face.

  "God... why?"

  When he removed his hands, blood began to gush. Candado, seeing it, felt a burning fury ignite within him.

  "Please... get out of here," Héctor mumbled, still pressing his nose.

  "Get away!" Inés shouted, pushing him forcefully. Héctor fell to the ground.

  That was when Candado intervened. He grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and lifted her off the floor with a single hand.

  "Are you angry? Yes... very angry."

  "Guh...!"

  "Candado, please, stop!" Héctor pleaded from the floor.

  "Back off, Héctor," he ordered, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and extending it to him. "Clean up. If the bleeding doesn't stop, we'll go to the doctor immediately."

  Inés struggled to free herself, but Candado threw her onto the ground with force. She began to cry.

  "Does it hurt, doesn't it? If you hate me, take out your anger on me, not my friend."

  "Mommy... Mommy..." the girl sobbed, utterly devastated.

  "What a shame," Candado said coldly. "Your mother is in prison for twelve years, and you won't be able to see or talk to her for an entire year. So... be patient, you little piece of trash."

  "You took my mommy from me!" Inés screamed through her tears.

  Candado crouched down in front of her. His voice dropped to a poisonous whisper.

  "Your mommy is a venomous snake. You're too ignorant to understand what she did. For you it was just a day... but you were missing for years, you poor human wreckage. I wanted to be unjust with her... but in the end, I was too kind. Thank me, little girl, thank me that she won't be behind bars for life."

  He stood up and turned to Héctor.

  "How are you?"

  "I'm fine, Candado. The bleeding has stopped."

  He sighed with relief.

  "Good... Do you want to eat?"

  "Before anything else... Can we help her?"

  Candado looked at Inés, curled up on the floor, trembling, weeping in the fetal position. He felt a knot in his stomach, a mix of repulsion and weariness.

  "Officers," he ordered in an icy tone. "Take that thing to the infirmary."

  "Candado..."

  "What?"

  Héctor sighed, lowering his gaze.

  "Let's go eat," he said, his voice subdued.

  Candado nodded silently. They both walked toward the building's exit, crossing corridors still charged with tension, where a few reporters tried to capture gestures or words that never came. They climbed into the carriage without speaking, and as the vehicle began to move, the morning sun barely peeked through the clouds.

  When they arrived at their usual cafeteria, the weight of their exhaustion was noticeable. They sat by the window, at a wooden table worn by the years but visibly well-maintained. The waiter greeted them with a slight nod, as if he knew today was not a day for jokes.

  The aroma of freshly baked bread and hot yerba mate slightly eased the atmosphere.

  Candado and Héctor ate breakfast in silence. They shared a thermos of mate and some croissants.

  "I hate the milk and coffee here. They taste awful," Héctor commented with a grimace.

  "Fussy."

  "Look who's talking. The guy who loves sweet things but won't dare to drink sweet mate."

  "It's disgusting, Héctor."

  "False. It's great."

  "To each his own. Let me be happy, and poison yourself with yours."

  "Canda..."

  "Heh, enjoy, friend."

  The silence that followed wasn't comfortable. It was the kind that weighed on the chest, as if everything they hadn't said in the courtroom was now floating between them.

  "Whatever you want to say, say it," Candado broke the silence, without taking his eyes off the street.

  Héctor hesitated. He looked down at the mate, turning it in his hands.

  "I don't want to sound like a pathetic moralist, but... Was it necessary to give the prisoner a year of familial isolation?"

  Candado leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

  "That was the kindest thing I could think of. I considered four... but I realized I was acting like a vengeful man."

  "What stopped you?"

  Candado looked away for an instant, as if it was difficult to verbalize.

  "...My sister."

  "I see..."

  Héctor wanted to end the conversation there. He wanted to. But something in his chest weighed him down, like a deeply lodged thorn he couldn't ignore.

  "Don't you think it's hypocritical?" he finally said, lowering his voice. "Gabriela managed to put a pause on your hardness... but you didn't listen to her when you ordered the cleanup of that Agents' headquarters."

  Candado didn't respond immediately. He played with the mate in his hands, watching the steam dissipate.

  "It wasn't hypocrisy," he replied in a low voice. "It was selective. If she whispered anything to me that day... I didn't hear her. I was furious."

  "There was no need for a massacre like that."

  "I told you: they chose a side. One that endangered the lives of our friends, our families. What did you expect me to do?"

  "And what differentiates us, then? If we do the same as them... if we respond with death, don't we give them the moral high ground with that very act?"

  Candado looked at him, weary.

  "Maybe so. But you don't stop a bullet with dialogue, Héctor. You want to see something salvageable in every human being. I don't."

  "I don't see the world in black and white, Candado. I know what kind of reality we live in. But instead of sinking into that cheap cynicism, I try to be resilient. I worry that the world will end up becoming completely selfish."

  Candado let out a short, bitter laugh.

  "You worry about that? Héctor... that is already happening."

  "Look around you, Ernést. We are in Kanghar. A society built from the ground up, with collective welfare as its banner. This... this wasn't built from selfishness."

  "No society is free of flaws," Candado replied, leaning back in his chair. "And even less so when I start to notice that even our own... the Candados, are looking for pretexts to start a war with the Circuit."

  "That won't happen. We are more than that. We are better than that."

  Candado observed him with a mixture of affection and pity.

  "You're naive if you truly believe that."

  Héctor lowered his gaze, sighing.

  "This society is the proof that something different can be built if selfishness is cast aside. If everyone is considered."

  "And what are you going to do? Ask the world to abandon capitalism? Say that a society can be made without communist or capitalist traits?" Candado said with an ironic smile. "Please, Héctor. You touch capitalism and you're immediately labeled a communist or a socialist. It's a conditioned reflex."

  "But if we explain it to them. If we show another way to live..."

  "To the UN, we are a fictitious country, without full recognition. The poorest of them all, according to their lists. The laughingstock of the Western bloc. Are we doing this for the people... or for applause from a grandstand?"

  Héctor looked at him seriously.

  "Have you ever tried to have a genuine conversation? Cordial? Without sarcasm."

  Candado lowered his gaze to his mate, turning it slowly.

  "Héctor, I live surrounded by people alienated by a system that impoverishes them... and makes them fight among themselves. What do you think?"

  "Then giving up is not the answer."

  "I'm not giving up. I just let those who don't want to see, not see. That's my philosophy. Why waste breath convincing someone who chose ignorance? The only difference between a brute and an intelligent person... is that we all believe we are intelligent," Candado said, bringing the mate to his lips.

  "That vision of yours... it dehumanizes you, Candado."

  "Humanity is subjective, Héctor. Morality is too. And my vision... isn't different. It's just that: a vision."

  "There will come a point where you won't be able to shield yourself with that 'subjectivity' anymore. Today you crossed a line. You ordered the death of many people. It doesn't matter if it was for good or for ill... you did it. And you feel nothing?"

  Candado remained silent for a moment. His gaze was lost in the bottom of the cold mate.

  "I didn't kill them," he finally said, without raising his voice. "They were already dead."

  "Candado!" Héctor exclaimed, on the verge of rage and sadness.

  "I know what I'm doing."

  "No, that's the saddest part. You think you know. You live convinced you have all the answers, because you are so fixated on seeing the world as a dark pit, so obsessed with the idea that cruelty and injustice are inevitable... that you refuse to see what is still worthwhile. What still shines. What still lives."

  Candado looked down, as if he didn't care.

  "Hammya," Héctor said dryly.

  That name, spoken almost as a whisper, made him blink. He raised his gaze, surprised.

  "Her? What does Hammya have to do with this?"

  "She is humanizing you," Héctor continued. "And I never thought she, of all people, would achieve something that neither I, nor Clementina, nor Lucas, nor the twins... none of us could. But there you are, looking up at the sky again like you used to. Feeling again. Please, Candado... let what happened today be the last time, please."

  The silence between them grew thick. Candado narrowed his eyes, as if chewing on the words before speaking them.

  "I can't promise you that, Héctor," he confessed, with raw honesty. Then he paused, took a deep breath, and added, "But... I want to try."

  Héctor looked at him for a long time, and then nodded, with a mixture of relief and resignation.

  "Trying... is already a step forward."

  "Whatever you say," Candado said while drinking mate.

  A brief silence followed, softer than the previous ones. As if, finally, there was something different in the air. Héctor looked away toward the window. Outside, a group of children played in a small square. A mother laughed with her child in her arms while an old woman knitted something for them from a bench. And further on, a man swept the sidewalk, whistling, without haste.

  "See that?" he said then, gesturing with his head toward the outside. "That is also the world, Candado. It's not all corruption, betrayal, or death. It's not all empty speeches and rotten structures. There is also tenderness, there are bonds, there are good people... Ordinary people who keep going, who get up every day without harming anyone and still live with dignity."

  Candado watched him in silence.

  "Sometimes we become so expert in the darkness," Héctor continued, "that we forget to look at the light. And I don't mean silly optimism. I know there are monsters out there. What I'm saying is, if we don't take care of that light, if we don't value it... it fades. And then the monsters win, and without realizing it, we join their ranks."

  Candado lowered his gaze to his mate, and then to his own hands. His knuckles were covered by his elegant white glove. He thought of Inés. He thought of her mother, behind bars. He thought of Hammya, and the way her eyes sometimes disarmed him without saying a single word.

  "I... I don't know if I deserve that light, or if I will ever appreciate it," he murmured.

  Héctor gently shook his head.

  "The light is not 'deserved,' Candado. It is cared for. It is protected. It is shared. It is the only thing that saves us from becoming beasts in uniform."

  There was another silence, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was like the instant just before dawn, when the sky hasn't yet colored, but something begins to change.

  "Do you still believe in that?" Candado asked, as if doubting it was possible.

  "Yes," Héctor answered without hesitation. "Because if I stop believing in that... then those who always said nothing is worthwhile win. As long as there is something, then it is worth continuing."

  Candado looked at him, and for an instant, an imperceptible crack crossed the armor of his gaze. It wasn't surrender, but a pause. A pause where doubt could fit. And maybe, just maybe... hope.

  "Then... Perhaps, just perhaps, I'll try."

  Héctor smiled, genuinely, with a warmth he rarely showed.

  "There's no right or wrong formula. But as long as you keep trying... I promise you won't be alone."