Then we passed through the gates. And nothing made sense anymore. Because prisons did not have houses.
Rows of stone-and-timber homes stretched beyond the walls, arranged along actual streets wide enough for vehicles and foot traffic. They were simple homes, built with practicality instead of beauty in mind, but they were homes all the same. Beyond them stood larger communal buildings, barns, storage structures, and what looked like a medical clinic near the center of the settlement.
A pond glittered in the distance beneath the afternoon sun.
Livestock pens occupied one side of the property, and I could see chickens darting around inside fenced runs while goats picked at fresh hay from wooden troughs. Workers moved between supply stacks and storage buildings, unloading crates, sacks, an
