She walked the L-route at 6 a.m.
The east corridor was empty at that hour — guards rotated at five forty-five, the next check not until seven. She'd mapped the camera angles two nights ago: four fixed points, one sweep, the twelve-foot gap at the southeast bend where the sweep's arc didn't reach. She didn't look at any of them. She moved at the pace the door logs would predict for someone managing bruised ribs on day five of recovery — unhurried, weight distributed slightly left, nothing that read as deliberate.
The gap at the southeast bend took four seconds to cross at that pace.
She crossed it. Came out the other side. Didn't look back.
