Sima had one week to “think about it,” which meant she had one week to tell the Committee men the names of all the people in the underground church. All those people I scared when I ran in with the bloody nose—all dead if the Committee got to them. She had one week or they would snatch her again. And they would kill us—my sister and me. She had one week to choose. And it wasn’t like she could go anywhere. The Committee was everywhere. In vans all over the city. Neighbors. The daughters of pistachio vendors. The sons of pharmacists.
