BURY

JESUS PICTURE

Mrs. Alvarez's house smelled like bleach and rice and church.

She was the lady who ran St. Agnes. She was the one who sold our desks for $5 each. She was the one who told me Maya died in a car crash and gave me a photocopied death certificate with no seal.

The key was under her Jesus picture. Maya knew. We both knew. Mrs. Alvarez always hid the office key under the big Jesus in the hallway because she said Jesus watches the files.

4:37 AM. 53 minutes until Vincent files.

We didn't knock. Damon kicked the back door, soft kick, foster-kid kick - not to break it, to pop the cheap lock we all learned at 12.

House dark. One light. Office light.

Mrs. Alvarez was awake. At her desk. Filing cabinet open.

And Maya was not in a basement. Maya was sitting on the floor next to the filing cabinet, alive, short hair, skinny, wrists red like rope burn, taping a USB under a drawer the same way she taped it under my desk.

She looked up.

"Lena?"

I said her name like I'd forgotten how to say it. "Maya?"

She stood, wobbled, and then we were both on the floor, mud, ash, red dress pieces, hugging so hard the $47M paper between us crunched.

"You left your gun under his pillow again," she whispered into my hair, same thing Marco said, same joke from when we were 9.

Behind us, Mrs. Alvarez didn't move. She had a phone in her hand.

"I called him," she said. Old voice. Tired. "I called Vincent when you texted, Maya. I'm sorry. He said you were stealing again. He said -"

Damon already had his gun out. Not at Mrs. Alvarez. At the window.

Vincent's white SUV was outside, lights off, parked.

He was here. He followed the text. Or Mrs. Alvarez called him.

4:42 AM. 48 minutes.

Maya pulled away, grabbed my face, ash on my face.

"Listen to me, Loop. The filing cabinet. Real death certificate. It's not mine. It's Vincent's wife's. He faked my death with her old certificate, changed the name. Real one is in there, proves I'm alive, proves fraud. And - and there is a second USB in Jesus picture frame, behind Jesus, I taped it there last year, it has Vincent telling Harrison on video -"

Window smashed.

Vincent didn't come in the door. He threw a rock through the window with a note tied to it, same way he used to throw notes to us at group home when he didn't want to come inside.

Note on rock, white robe now dirty, standing outside in rain, not coming in because Damon had a gun.

Note read: _30 minutes, Lena. I moved filing to 5:15 AM. Lawyer is early. Bring me Maya, the three papers, and the two USBs. Or I file and you both go to prison for forgery and theft. Maya for stealing trust, you for receiving. Sisters in prison together. Like you always wanted. - V_

He moved it again. 5:15 AM now. 33 minutes.

Maya looked at the filing cabinet. Drawer open. Files everywhere. Real death certificate somewhere inside, second USB behind Jesus.

One cabinet, 200 files, 33 minutes, Vincent outside watching, cops still looking for us from the flea market call.

"Loop," Maya said, grabbing my hand, foster-kid grip, nails in. "We have to burn it again. Like we burned our files at St. Agnes when they said we were moving. Remember? We burn what they want so they can't file it."

She was right. If we can't find the real certificate in 33 minutes, we make sure Vincent can't find it either to prove she died?

No. If we burn, we lose proof she's alive.

If we don't burn, Vincent gets it at 5:15 AM and files.

33 minutes to dig again, but this time in paper, not ash.