The thick oak groaned as another massive blow struck the brass lock from the outside.

“Hold on!” Alexander’s voice roared, his tone raw and choked with thick smoke.

I pulled the wet wool blanket tighter around Ethan’s trembling shoulders.

“I’m right here, Ethan,” I whispered, coughing violently into my sleeve.

“I’m not letting go of you.”

The boy’s small, soot-stained hands gripped the wet fabric of my apron.

Underneath my apron, pressed hard against my ribs, was the thick manila folder of Eleanor’s medical records.

I had wrapped them in a thick plastic sleeve from the desk drawer to protect them from the water.

They were the only evidence left of what had truly happened to Ethan’s mother.

Another heavy blow shook the entire wall.

The top hinge of the reinforced door sheared off with a sharp, metallic snap.

A heavy iron crowbar wedged into the growing gap, followed by the blade of a heavy chopping axe.

Alexander’s face appeared through the cracked wood, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

“Elena! Ethan!” he screamed, his voice hoarse from the fumes.