She did not look surprised to see us alive; she looked calculating, as if adjusting her plans in real time.

I pulled the folder slightly tighter against my ribs, hiding it from her view.

She wanted these papers destroyed.

She had tried to burn us alive to get rid of them.

Two red fire engines roared up the driveway, followed by a white ambulance and two police cruisers.

Their tires crunched loudly on the wet gravel.

Paramedics scrambled out of the ambulance, carrying medical bags and oxygen masks.

“Over here!” Alexander called out, waving them down.

A female paramedic rushed over, immediately kneeling beside Ethan.

“Let’s get some oxygen on him,” she said, placing a small plastic mask over the boy’s face.

Another paramedic approached me, holding a blanket and an oxygen mask.

“Are you hurt, ma’am?” he asked.

“Just breathed in some smoke,” I mumbled, accepting the heavy green blanket.

I let him place the mask over my nose and mouth, the cool flow of oxygen soothing my throat.

But I refused to lie down on the stretcher.

I needed to keep my hands free to protect the evidence.