He closed the door behind us and slid a heavy iron bolt into place.

The cabin was freezing, the air inside almost colder than the air outside.

Jake immediately went to the stone fireplace, kneeling down to check the grate.

“There’s dry kindling here,” Jake said.

He struck a match, the tiny yellow flame illuminating his rugged face and the dark circles under his eyes.

Within minutes, a small fire was crackling in the hearth, throwing a warm orange glow across the wooden floorboards.

I sat down on a dusty plaid sofa near the fire, wrapping my coat tighter around Owen.

Reyes set his tablet on a wooden coffee table and sat down next to us, his face pale with exhaustion.

“We need to get this data to the federal prosecutor in the morning,” Reyes said.

“Will they act on it?” I asked.

“With this level of documentation? Yes,” Reyes said. “But it will take time to secure the warrants.”

“We don’t have time,” Jake said, standing by the fireplace as the heat began to rise.

He took his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen.