I saw Neelab and the nervous anticipation on her face when Boba had revealed the safe to us. Her nose had crinkled with glee. I felt her fingers wrapped around my arm, a friendly and excited squeeze. I heard her voice then, distant and fleeting.

Of course you remember, Sitara. You never forget a detail.

When I opened my eyes, I gave the dial one more twirl and landed on 63. Then I fixed my attention on the second dial, tapping the knob as if to ask for help.

Twenty-seven.

With the light in my left hand, I rotated the top dial until I heard a soft click.

I was missing only the last number—the one that had been hidden from view by my father’s arm. I had never seen this number.

I pressed my forehead against the metal door of the safe. It was a number between 1 and 100. I turned the dial to 1 and tried the handle, but it didn’t give way. I moved the dial to 2 and tried again. Another tick forward to 3.

At 33, the locks released and the handle relented. I took a deep breath, then inched backward to give the door room to open. If it groaned this loudly when Boba opened it, I had not noticed. For now, it seemed that no one on the floor above me had noticed either. I swept the flashlight across the safe and peered inside.

I opened one small crate at a time. I touched the plaster of a miniature bust and the gold of a multistranded necklace. What would happen to these pieces? What would happen to me? Surrounded by these precious survivors, I wondered if I could plot an escape. I replaced every treasure in its lined box with care—all the treasures but one.

I slid the turquoise and garnet ring onto my left hand, touching the hammered metal of the band and the smooth surface of the stones. It twirled loosely around my finger. I turned the ring so that the stones were tucked into my palm and made a fist to keep it from slipping off.

It was quiet upstairs, and that quiet emboldened me. I had just crept out of the alcove when I heard the basement door open. I slipped backward, my feet shuffling in a panic. I was barely in the alcove by the time they were in the basement, close enough that I could smell the smoke and sweat on their uniforms.

“Bring that old radio upstairs. I think I can get it working again,” said one of the soldiers.

“Yes, sir.”

When their footsteps drew near, I silenced my screams by biting into the heel of my hand and digging my fingernails into the thin flesh of my knee.

“What about this carpet?”

“Maybe. Unroll it and see if it’s worth carrying upstairs or if it’s down here out of sight for a reason.”