CHAPTER 5 — Your Sister Is Next

“Does that mean I've cleared my name?”

Leila looked down at the documents Adèle had handed her.

“At the very least, that video alone can't be used to call you an arsonist.”

“Why does that sound so small?”

“Because the people accusing you were much louder.”

Adèle showed her a chart comparing the original bakery footage with emergency dispatch records and the paramedics' arrival time. She'd plainly spent the night checking timestamps that didn't agree.

“The police have acknowledged the problem with the video's timestamp. It doesn't end the arson investigation, but they say they'll examine the possibility of tampering separately.”

“Then tell the news. Tell them there's footage of me saving someone.”

“We can. But we'll conceal other people's faces and state only what we can verify.”

Leila flexed her fingers. The handcuff marks were fainter than yesterday, but they hadn't disappeared.

“Fine. I'll speak for myself.”

Adèle raised her eyebrows.

“An interview could bring more attacks.”

“If I hide, they'll think I really did it.”

“It's your decision. First, let's find somewhere safe to do it.”

They arranged a short interview with Manon, a local journalist. In front of the camera, Leila's throat dried. The memory of Louise looking away from her in the street hurt more than the police officer's hostile stare.

“Do you support the riots?” Manon asked. The question was sharper than Leila had expected.

“I don't support people getting hurt.”

“Then why were you there?”

“Because people were there. An injured policeman. Children, too.”

“Do you acknowledge that you were suspected of arson?”

“I acknowledge that I was arrested. I do not admit setting a fire. I was trying to pull people out of one.”

Manon lowered the camera for a moment.

“Anything you'd like to add?”

“You're free to doubt me. But the policeman I saved is a person too. Please don't turn his life into a convenient story.”

That evening Manon's report stated that the available evidence did not justify identifying Leila as the arsonist. It also raised questions about the timing of the police cordon. For the first time, some of the comments defended her.

Small donations began arriving in the relief center's account. Three anonymous threats arrived too. One sender said she'd deceived decent neighbors; another accused the government of protecting foreigners at the expense of its own citizens. Leila saved the donation records and the threats separately. She couldn't know which folder would grow faster tomorrow.

What stayed with her most were the faces of those who'd doubted her. Some, like Louise, might speak to her again. Others might never return to the center. Today she hadn't been declared innocent. For the first time, people had simply begun listening all the way through.

But she didn't linger over the screen. There was an urgent job to do: set up a temporary table outside the relief center. They laid out Louise's bread and soup donated by the neighborhood. The building couldn't open, so they would serve meals on the pavement.

“Miss?”

The little girl who'd stood beside the police car appeared.

“You really came back.”

“Of course. I promised.”

“Will you open tomorrow too?”

“Under that roof over there, instead. They're predicting rain.”

The girl accepted her bread with both hands. Samira adjusted the scarf around her neck. Leila wished she could watch that ordinary moment for longer. She'd never imagined how many people it would take to reclaim a single peaceful evening.

Her phone rang.

An unknown number.

“Is this Leila Haddad?” A man's voice.

“Who's speaking?”

“I work at the Valois distribution center where your sister works. I can't tell you my name.”

“Has something happened to Samira?”

“Get her off her shift. And don't let her go home tonight.”

Leila looked across the food table at her sister.

“What do you mean?”

“There's an internal risk list going around. Yesterday it had only your name on it. A new file was uploaded today.”

“What list? Is it from the police?”

“I don't know who made it. But our manager told us to stay away from anyone on it and their families.”

“Send me a photo. I need to see it.”

He hesitated, then hung up. Seconds later a photograph arrived from an anonymous account. Two names were visible on the blurred screen.

LEILA HADDAD.

And below it, SAMIRA HADDAD.

Beside Samira's name was a small red mark and the words:

SUBJECT TO SEPARATE ACTION BEFORE 06:00.

“Who's that, Leila?”

Samira, unaware of anything, was ladling another bowl of soup for the little girl. Leila couldn't take her eyes off her sister's hands.

The phone vibrated again. This time it was a message from the police, forwarded by Adèle. The sender was Gabriel Moreau.

“The route by which the video was submitted may be connected to a private company's list. If you believe you're in danger, report it immediately through your lawyer.”

Leila didn't reply. The officer who'd arrested her was now warning her of danger. She didn't trust him, but she couldn't discard the warning. Instead she sent the photograph to Adèle and walked toward Samira.

“Samira. Listen carefully.”

“Why do you look so frightened?”

Leila took her sister's hand.

“Next to your name it says ‘action before six in the morning.’ It doesn't say what kind of action.”