Ion had been standing in line since 6:47. The December wind cut through his thin jacket. Behind him, a young woman held a sleeping toddler. Ahead, an old man kept checking a worn envelope, making sure the papers were still there.

Outside, the sun had finally broken through the clouds. Chitila wasn't much — a train stop, a few blocks of flats, a kiosk selling stale cookies. But for Ion, in that moment, the gray building had given him something precious: a future with no shadows.

They called it "Program Cazier" — the criminal record schedule. For the people waiting in line, it was the last stop before a new job, a visa, or a clean slate.