I was a courier, carrying something more important than herself out of a burning building.

And a courier can do things a mere survivor cannot, because a courier’s fear is disciplined by a mission.

Every time the panic rose up in me on that dark road — and it rose up often — I answered it with the same cold thought: it does not matter if they catch me, as long as the truth gets out.

That thought is a kind of armor.

It let me be brave in a way I could never have been for my own sake alone, because I have always been able to risk more for something I love than for myself.