A chain-link fence ran along the horizon, topped with coils of razor wire that glinted like jewelry. Beyond it, low concrete buildings squatted in neat, severe lines.

A gatehouse stood ahead, a young soldier in pressed fatigues checking papers against a clipboard. He looked up as your mother pulled the car to a stop.

Ahead, the gymnasium loomed—a vast, hangar-like structure with corrugated metal walls. Through the open double doors, you could hear the murmur of a crowd, the shuffle of boots on polished concrete.

Your mother parked. She turned off the engine and looked back at you, her eyes soft.