Fear for your own body is a strange, unsteady fuel; it makes you fast, but it also makes you frantic, and a frantic person makes mistakes, freezes, panics, gives up.

But I was not, in the deepest part of me, running to save myself.

I was running to save the truth — the audit, the evidence, the record of what had actually been done to my father’s company.

And that gave the terror a shape, and a purpose, and turned it from a thing that might have unraveled me into a thing I could aim.

I was not a girl fleeing for her life.