The Heavy Thud of the Police Boots

Dear Delyara, Three officers walked our internal perimeter path just after midnight, checking the integrity of the railway arches behind the compound. The sound of their heavy, thick-soled boots marching across our hollow metal drainage grates was unmistakable—a deliberate, rhythmic thud that echoed off the brickwork. It didn't sound like the light, hesitant steps of a civilian or the tired trudge of a night watchman. It was the cadence of absolute presence. I sat behind my monitors, watching their torch beams slice through the dark corners of the yard, feeling a strange mixture of relief and isolation as their shadows stretched and disappeared into the fog.