He was just Ofer. And as he walked out of that room, into the blinding light and the waiting cameras, that’s all he wanted to be. Just Ofer..... The lukewarm tea did little to warm Ofer Calderon’s trembling hands. He sipped it slowly, the metallic tang of the prison-issued cup a stark contrast to the sweetness he remembered from his wife’s kitchen. He looked around the small, sparsely furnished room, the temporary holding place before his release. Release. The word felt foreign, almost mocking. Just yesterday, he’d been in a different cell, the same four walls, the same gnawing uncertainty. Before that, it was the terrifying chaos of the attack, the rough hands, the darkness of the tunnels. Before that…before that, he was just Ofer. A husband, a cousin, a man who liked to tinker in his garden and argue with his friends about football. He closed his eyes, trying to conjure the scent of his roses, the sound of his dog barking at the m...