Sunlight can be incredibly healing. Dating back earlier than 3000 BC, sunlight has been used in medicine, healing physical ailments faster due to its antibiotic nature. I know it can have a similar effect on the mind.

We Miami natives thrive in the sun; living without it would be torture to many. It's no surprise that Camila hesitates to step out into the sunlight for the first time in at least a couple of months, and what could well be years. Simply standing outside is more freedom than she's used to. She's scared; scared to take the step, scared to let herself feel it again, scared to lose it again.

The courtyard is like the rest of the prison: square, concrete, and bland. It is located in the centre of the building, meaning all four sides are blocked by walls that span up countless floors. Fortunately, there are some patches of grass and benches scattered about to bring a little life into the place. At the far end, I notice a raised garden box with some nondescript leaves sprouting from the dirt. I know some of the minimum security inmates grow vegetables that are then used as ingredients in the kitchen, under very close supervision, of course.

I gently ease her out of the door with a hand on the small of her back, and she stumbles forward under the hot Floridian sun. Immediately, an exhausted breath leaves her body as she relaxes more than I've yet seen. She slowly makes her way to the centre of the yard, eyes glued up at the sky. She is facing away from me, so I can't see her expression, but the air sure does feel lighter than it did in the cell. She holds her hands—connected at the wrist as we'd decided to let her keep the cuffs, for now—out in front of her, palms up and cupped as if to catch the light, and turns to Dinah and me with a smile. Somehow, in the light of the afternoon, she's even more beautiful than usual. Her skin, though evidently a little more pallid than it perhaps should be, is golden. Her hair looks a richer brown than ever. Her eyes seem to shine a little more. I find myself smiling too when she lets out a quiet laugh, light and airy and almost childlike. For a minute, I forget where we are and the news we received just hours earlier.

Dinah's radio crackles loudly, but even that can't pierce the peace we've found.

"I gotta go," She says, a grin on her face too. "You know the way back, yeah?"

I nod, and she turns, then pauses and turns back. She pulls a small chain away from her waist and holds it out to me. I let it gather in my palm before examining it and noticing the small key hanging from one end. "For the cuffs," she explains, and I thank her. Then, she makes a swift exit, heading back through the doors we entered through.

I wrap the chain around my fingers and slot it into my pocket, looking back to Camila who is wandering once more. She's heading towards a big square of grass in the centre, but stops to look back at me as her toes teeter on the edge of the concrete. I make my way over to her and stop right beside her.

"Are you okay?" I question when she looks down at the grass, bottom lip drawn loosely between her teeth. She gulps, nods, and begins to fiddle. I frown and stand in front of her instead, causing her eyes to meet mine. "What do you need?"

She parts her lips to talk, then shakes her head. "I can't be trusted."

"What do you mean?"

She sighs and itches her temple. "I hurt people, Lauren."

"I don't think you wanted to." Frowning, she tips her head, so I continue, "Correct me if I'm wrong but I think you only hurt people because you thought you had to, because that's what you've been told is right, and all you want to do is the right thing. Plus, you hurt people who have hurt you, and... a lot of us want to do that."

She seems perplexed and knowing at the same time as she looks down slightly, eyes obviously out of focus but staring at my chest. I shift on my feet as my temperature rises, and weakly blame it on the sun. When she pulls at her cuffs, I reach down for her hands.

"Do you want to hurt me, Camila?" I whisper.

Her head shoots up and, with wide eyes, she shakes her head rapidly. "Never."

"Can I take your cuffs off?"

She shifts our hands to interlock our fingers, running her thumbs in circles on my palms. The way it tickles almost feels like they're burning, but I don't pull away. "But... I might..." She stammers and takes a deep breath. "Sometimes I do things I don't want to."

"I trust you," and I'm being entirely honest. I really do trust her. Perhaps I shouldn't, but she didn't correct me earlier. She wants to do what is right, she just needs somebody to show her what that is.

When she sighs but says nothing more, I reach for the key and quickly set about removing the silver cuffs, tucking them and the chain into my bag before gently replacing them with my hands. My fingers easily wrap around her wrists and sit loosely, and I wonder if this is the way her body has always been. The thought subsides when she tugs her hands away and runs one through her hair, though it doesn't get far before meeting knots. I watch in confusion as she toes off her worn slip-on shoes and tugs off her socks, tucking them into her shoes, leaving her barefoot on the concrete. After another breath, she watches her feet as she steps forward onto the grass, consequently bringing her so close to me that we're almost touching at every point. She wiggles her toes a few times and laughs once more. My breath hitches when she looks up at me, smile restored, and tosses her arms around me in a bone-crushing hug.

Voice muffled by my shirt, she mumbles, "It's even softer than I remembered."