Jake threw his door open before the SUV had even come to a complete stop.

I followed him into the freezing air, the wind biting at my cheeks.

“Is it safe?” Jake shouted over the rumble of the fire truck’s engine.

A fireman in heavy yellow turnout gear walked toward us, pulling off his thick gloves.

“We got here just in time, Captain,” the fireman said, recognizing Jake. “The remote system had bypassed the safety overrides, but we cut the main line from the street. No spark, no fire.”

I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for months, the steam rising into the cold air.

Jake wrapped his arms around me and Owen, holding us close against his chest.

“It’s over,” he murmured into my hair. “They can’t touch us anymore.”

Two weeks later, the snow had begun to melt into dirty patches along the sidewalks.

We sat in a federal courtroom in downtown Chicago.

The room smelled of lemon oil, old wool, and polished brass.

Jake sat beside me in his dress uniform, his medals catching the light from the tall windows.