She becomes resourceful out of necessity.

She looks for the one door no one thought to lock, and she goes through it.

My door was evidence, because evidence was the one thing in my life that Roland’s campaign of lies could not corrupt in advance; a recording does not have a reputation he could poison, cannot be dismissed as a troubled girl seeking attention, cannot be talked out of what it heard.

So I gathered it, not out of strength but out of a clear-eyed assessment of my own powerlessness and the single narrow path that remained.