"You..." she sputtered, barely able to form the words. "What kind of excuse is that? You're afraid of getting hurt? My son's risking his life for your damned records and you just... don't care? Like it's nothing to you?"
Lucia's face turned a deep crimson, a stark contrast to the white of her clenched knuckles. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.
"Maya, Harvey is in there!" she shouted, her voice shrilled with desperation. "He's your husband! How can you stand here and act like this doesn't matter? What is wrong with you?"
"I've already called the fire department," I replied evenly, holding up my phone. "They'll be here soon. Don't worry—they'll put the fire out."
Lucia took a step closer, her eyes burning with disbelief and frustration. "Do you even hear yourself?" she began. "Your husband's life is hanging by a thread and all you can say is to wait?"
"What else can I do?" I asked, my tone flat, unmoved. "Do you want me to run in there and die with him? That wouldn't save anyone."