My boots grind against the cobblestones as I stop. The alley feels like a trap, walls pressing in. Overhead, the rooftops rise in dark, uneven ridges, each one a shadowed challenge waiting for me. The collar's papers weigh against my side, a reminder of what's at stake.

  Cień lingers at the far end of the alley, arms crossed, shoulders rigid, like a shadow carved from the darkness. He doesn't look at me. He doesn't need to. I can feel his eyes, even without him lifting his head.

  My chest tightens.

  Please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me.

  A soft scrape behind me makes me jump.

  "You stop fidgeting like that," Cień hisses from over my shoulder.

  My chest clenches, and my hands curl into my sleeves. I don't turn around.

  "I'm not—"

  "Yes, you are," he cuts in. "You've checked the street three times. You keep shifting your weight. And you're breathing like you expect someone to grab you."

  My throat tightens. "I just—Gabriel's not here yet."

  "I know."

  Silence stretches through the dark alley.

  "You understand something, Daniel?" Cień asks quietly from behind me. "If this goes wrong tonight, it won't be the men who pay for it first... It'll be the kids."

  I swallow.

  "Micha?," he continues. "The runners. The families who don't have places to hide anymore."

  I finally turn halfway, just enough to see his outline in the dark.

  "So when I ask myself why a thirteen-year-old walked out of the woods wearing a courier's collar," he says, "I don't get to assume innocence."

  My chest tightens. "I didn't know it was there," I whisper.

  He studies me for a long moment. I can feel it, even without light.

  "I believe that," he says at last.

  Relief flickers—then dies.

  "But belief doesn't undo consequences."

  He steps closer. Not touching. Never touching. That's worse.

  "You don't get second chances in this work," he says. "And you don't get protected just because Gabriel cares about you."

  I clamp my jaw shut.

  "You're here because I let you be," Cień finishes. "So tonight, you listen. You move when told. And if I say stop—"

  "I stop," I murmur quickly.

  His gaze sharpens. "Immediately," he corrects.

  Another pause. Then, quieter—not softer, just controlled:

  "You're a boy in a man's war. Don't make me forget that."

  The words hang between us.

  Suddenly, something shifts from above. A faint scrape of wood. A small thud, barely there.

  Cień's eyes flick upward at the same time mine do.

  A shape above us, half-shadowed against the roofline.

  Kneeling on a narrow wooden board nailed beneath the bargeboard, like it's the most normal place in the world to be, Gabriel leans forward slightly, hands resting on his knees, his face tips down toward us with that mischievous, almost proud, grin he makes whenever he's just pulled off a small trick and is waiting to see if anyone noticed.

  "Are you two finished glaring at each other," Gabriel says, his voice light, "or is this part of the plan? "

  Cień doesn't answer right away. He shakes his head, almost amused, a small knowing smile tugging at his lips, like he should've known Gabriel would beat us up there.

  My heart thumps once, just before Gabriel lifts a hand and motions us closer to the wall.

  "Come on," he says hurriedly. "Before someone decides to look up."

  A ladder leans up toward the edge of the roof, its base braced awkwardly against a couple of wooden crates, waits along the right side of the alley, hidden in the narrow space between two abandoned houses.

  I must hesitate a second too long, as Cień already takes a step forward and edges me aside with his shoulder, already reaching for the ladder. He places his foot on the first rung without even looking down, as he trusts it—or maybe like he doesn't care if it holds.

  I don't have that kind of confidence.

  I set my foot on the bottom rung carefully, testing it with my weight instead of committing to it all at once. It creaks, not violently, not enough to break, but enough that the sound scrapes through the quiet alley with a loud echo.

  Something inside me tightens instantly.

  My hands clamp around the sides before I can stop them, knuckles pressing into the rough wood, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, bracing for the sharp drop that doesn't come.

  Halfway up, Cień pauses and looks down at me, a faint frown cutting across his face.

  "Don't rush it," he mutters. "Place your weight properly."

  Gabriel notices, of course.

  "It'll hold," he says cheerfully. "Probably."

  I glare up at him, clearly unamused, but Gabriel only grins wider.

  The ladder shifts beneath me, every movement exaggerated, and by the time I reach the top, my palms are all damp.

  Gabriel stands as we come up, steadying himself easily on the narrow ridge board, and for a moment, all three of us remain balanced here, the roofs sloping away on either side, the city stretched out beneath us in dim, dim lantern light.

  Gabriel looks entirely too pleased with himself. Cień, on the other hand, does not. I'm mostly just aware of how high up we are.

  The ridge board beneath my boots feels thinner than it probably is, and I try not to look down as Gabriel straightens like he's standing on solid ground instead of a slanted rooftop.

  "You took your time," Gabriel says, easy.

  Cień brushes past him. "And you rushed."

  Gabriel shrugs. "It worked."

  Cień gives him a look. "That doesn't make it smart."

  Gabriel's grin only widens, like that was the point.

  I shift my weight, and the board dips slightly under my boot. My stomach lurches.

  "Can you two not argue while we're standing on something this narrow?" I ask, gripping the ridge a little harder.

  Gabriel glances at me, amused. "You're doing fine."

  "I don't feel fine."

  "That's because you keep looking down," he says.

  "I'm not—" I start, then immediately look down.

  Cień shakes his head under his breath. "Just watch your footing."

  We move a single file along the ridge, boots careful against the old slate. The wind moves between buildings in low, soughing drafts that send a shiver down my spine.

  I keep my eyes firmly on Gabriel's shoulders because if I were to look down, I would absolutely think about gravity again, and I do not need to think about gravity again.

  We cross one roof, then another.

  The only thing connecting us is a narrow wooden plank nailed between the buildings.

  It's quite strange when I think about it. Who puts something like this here? Who looks at the space between two rooftops and decides, yes, people will definitely need to walk across this someday?

  Cień steps onto it without hesitation. Gabriel follows with annoying ease.

  Steady and insouciantly relaxed, he makes his way down the plank, arms hanging loosely at his sides, moving with the easy grace of a cat.

  Then there's me.

  The board dips slightly under my weight, creaking in protest as I spread my arms for balance, boots feeling for the center as if that might somehow make it less narrow.

  Well... now I know how an alley cat feels. Only, I'm guessing alley cats don't think this much about falling.

  Once my boots finally hit solid rooftop again, I exhale slowly in relief.

  Suddenly, Cień starts to slow ahead of us, just slightly—enough to make Gabriel falter, and enough to make me look up.

  Then he stops—not gradually, not like he's reconsidering anything, but abruptly, as if he's hit an invisible wall.

  I nearly walk straight into Gabriel's back.

  "Hey—what's the big idea?" Gabriel asks, a note of irritation slipping through as he glances past Cień into the dark.

  Cień doesn't turn right away. He's watching the street, chin tilted slightly, like he's listening to something I can't hear.

  Then he exhales. "We can't keep moving like this."

  Gabriel frowns. "Like what?"

  "Together."

  Just as Gabriel opens his mouth to say something, the rattle of a truck over cobblestones drifts up from the street below.

  Cień doesn't turn right away. He's looking toward the next block—toward where the supposed "contact" lives, just a couple of buildings over.

  A patrol passes at the far end of the street. Black coats. Flashlight beam slices briefly across the brick.

  Cień watches until the light disappears. Then he finally turns.

  "Three silhouettes on a roof draw attention," he continues quietly. "If a patrol looks up, they won't see boys cutting across home. They'll see coordination."

  Gabriel rocks back slightly on his heels, glancing down at the street below. "That assumes they're competent."

  "They always look up," Cień says. There's no argument in his voice. Just a fact.

  A beat passes. Wind slides over the rooftops. Somewhere below, a door slams.

  "So what?" I ask. "You want us to split up now?"

  "Yes." The word is immediate.

  Gabriel studies him, eyes narrowing just a little—not suspicious. Curious.

  "And you?" Gabriel asks, almost casually.

  Cień's gaze moves back to the street. "I'll circle east. Cut across the garages. If anyone notices movement on the roofs, they'll follow me."

  "That's not very subtle," Gabriel mutters lightly with a grin.

  "It isn't meant to be."

  This makes me straighten. "You're drawing attention on purpose?"

  "I'm being seen somewhere else on purpose," Cień corrects calmly. "There's a difference."

  It clicks slowly. An alibi... If something goes wrong at the drop, Cień won't be tied to it. He won't be seen near the contact. He won't be seen near us. He planned this.

  Gabriel goes quiet for half a second. Then, softer, he begins, "You knew that before we left."

  Cień doesn't answer right away. That's an answer enough.

  "If you knew," I say, "why come at all?"

  For the first time, something shifts in his expression. His eyes flick to Gabriel. Just for a second.

  I tilt my head, brows knitting together, as I make out the muttered words: "Old habit."

  There's history in those words. I can tell.

  Cień looks back at me, his eyes steady. "You have the message."

  My hand goes instinctively to the collar at my throat.

  "Good," he says, noticing the movement. "Don't touch it again."

  I jerk my hand down like I've been caught stealing. "Right," I murmur, eyes dropping to the floor.

  "You two take the north edge," Cień instructs. "Cut behind the chimney stacks. There's a blind corner above the tailor's shop—use it. Don't go straight to the window. Wait. Watch first."

  He looks over at Gabriel when he says the next part. "If anyone asks, I was at the garage. I've been there all evening."

  Gabriel gives a lazy salute. "Yes, sir."

  Cień's expression remains indifferent. Unlike when I did it.

  He looks between us one last time. "Don't be obvious," he reminds us.

  Gabriel grins faintly. "That sounds like a challenge."

  Then Cień turns and moves. He disappears over the eastern slope like he was never with us to begin with.

  Gabriel watches the space he left for a second longer before exhaling and taking a step closer to me, nudging my shoulder lightly with his.

  "Well," he begins, glancing at the drop below like it's a river instead of a street, "looks like it's just us. Try not to fall. It's terribly inconvenient."

  I don't smile. Instead, we start walking.

  For a while, neither of us says anything. The silence isn't awkward—just... full. The wind moves over the rooftops, tugging at Gabriel's hair. He walks like he's on a Sunday stroll instead of several stories above cobblestone. Hands loose at his sides, he steps easy, like the world down there can't touch him.

  Gabriel pauses once to look out over the street below, eyes bright, almost curious. He smiles to himself, like this is beautiful.

  My jaw tightens.

  This isn't beautiful. This isn't an adventure. This is dangerous.

  Gabriel steps lightly onto the narrow wooden bridge between buildings, balancing easily as he crosses. He lifts his arms slightly for balance, neither worried nor rushed.

  My hands curl into fists.

  "Okay, what is with you?!" I snap.

  He glances over his shoulder at me, faint grin already forming. "I beg your pardon?"

  "We're running messages between people who get arrested for less. There are patrols below us. If one of those boards snaps, we're done. And you're—" I gesture vaguely at him. "—breathing in the breeze like you're on holiday."

  Gabriel turns fully now, walking backward along the ridge like this is the safest place in the world. "I can breathe and be cautious at the same time."

  "You are not cautious!"

  My voice rings out louder than I intend, and I instantly regret it. I scramble to pull the words back, dropping my tone to a strained whisper.

  "You act like this is some sort of adventure. Like none of it can actually go wrong."

  Gabriel watches me carefully now, head tilted just slightly.

  "You're upset."

  "Of course I'm upset."

  Then his mouth curves into something softer, something teasing. "You're very serious tonight."

  My face scowls. "Someone has to be."

  "Oh, I like you like this," Gabriel teases. "All frowny and brave."

  "I'm not—" I cut myself off, cheeks warming. "I'm just saying you should take this more seriously."

  "My dear Daniel," he says, voice suddenly exaggerated and princely, "adventure requires a certain lightness of spirit."

  My hands curl at my sides. "Gabriel."

  "Yes, Wendy?"

  I stare at him for a moment, motionless and at a loss for words.

  What did he just call me...?

  I finally break my stare with a blink, my mind still reeling. "Don't call me that."

  "But it fits," he replies lightly. "You worry. You scold. You make sure the boys don't do anything reckless."

  "You are doing something reckless!"

  He leans in just slightly, voice lowering—not teasing now, but amused in a quieter way. "And yet you're still here."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  We resume walking, this time across another narrow plank bridging the gap between buildings. It's thinner than the last one.

  Of course it is.

  Gabriel steps onto it without hesitation. I follow, because apparently I make poor decisions when he's involved.

  Halfway across, he glances down at the street below and then back ahead again, unfazed.

  "You know," he says, his voice slipping into that overly proper, theatrical tone he likes to use when he's entertaining himself, "I think I rather like it up here. Feels very—Neverland."

  I roll my eyes at first. "Oh, c'mon, you're not Peter Pan..."

  But then I look around.

  We're above the streets. Above the patrols. Above everything that tells us what to do.

  And for a moment, it does feel like something separate from the world below.

  He glances over his shoulder with that wide, bright grin—the one that shows up when he's excited about something slightly stupid. "Oh, but I am."

  And looking at him like this, I can finally see it.

  The constant teasing. The way danger only seems to sharpen his energy instead of dulling it. The boyish grin. The refusal to grow up into something quieter, safer, more reasonable.

  Peter Pan.

  The thought hits me so unexpectedly that I can't help but let out a small laugh.

  He reaches the other side and turns, offering me a mock bow once I step off the plank.

  "Yes," he continues smoothly, "I've decided. You're Wendy."

  "I am not Wendy!" I protest, laughing despite myself.

  "You absolutely are."

  "And you," I mutter, brushing past him, "are insufferable."

  He falls into step beside me, shoulder brushing mine again—deliberate this time.

  "And yet," he says lightly, "you'd miss me terribly."

  I don't answer.

  Because I would.

  We sit together on the edge of the roof, legs dangling, taking a moment to rest before we have to move again.

  A crooked chimney rises just behind us, wedged into the uneven tiles, smoke curling steadily into the night sky. Ash clings faintly to our sleeves and settles in our hair, leaving dark smudges across our coats and faces.

  The dark blue sky stretches wide above us, moonlight glinting off the rooftops. The city is quiet at this hour, most windows dark.

  For a while, we say nothing.

  We just sit there, catching our breath, sharing the quiet, letting the night be what it is.

  I know, distantly, that this is dangerous. That we could be seen. Caught. That tomorrow could be different.

  But for now, with Cień gone and Gabriel beside me, it feels almost like freedom.

  ***

  We cross the last rooftop without speaking. The final stretch ends in a narrow wooden staircase bolted awkwardly to the side of the building, leading down into the street. The steps creak under our boots as we descend.

  Gabriel reaches the bottom first and steps off like he's arriving somewhere pleasant instead of somewhere dangerous. The street is empty. Dark. Except for one small pool of warm yellow light hanging above the tailor's shop across the way.

  Gabriel stops. I almost walk into him again. He turns, looking at me with that familiar spark in his eyes.

  "All right," he says quietly. "Adventure pauses here."

  "What?"

  He reaches toward my collar before I can step back.

  "You stay. I go."

  "I'm the one carrying it," I protest.

  "Were," he corrects gently, fingers already working at the clasp. "Past tense."

  The collar loosens, and the cold air hits my neck. He lifts it free and gives it a small, thoughtful tilt in his hand, like he's judging the weight of it.

  "You shouldn't go alone," I say under my breath.

  Gabriel looks at me like I've said something mildly ridiculous.

  "Daniel," he says, almost fondly, "you're thirteen."

  "That doesn't mean—"

  "It means," he interrupts lightly, leaning closer, "that if someone needs to be chased dramatically down the street, it should be me."

  "That's not funny."

  "It's a little funny." He nods toward the staircase railing. "Under there. Stay hidden. Try to look mysterious."

  "I don't want to look mysterious."

  "That's unfortunate." He nudges my shoulder once. "Trust me."

  I hesitate—but he's already stepping away. I duck beneath the black railing, crouching low so the bars cut across my view. The metal is freezing against my arm. I press closer to the shadows, watching through the narrow gaps.

  Gabriel crosses the street at an easy pace, hands slipping into his pockets like he's out for an evening stroll. Cold air leaves my mouth in slow, white puffs.

  He reaches the tailor's door and pauses beneath the lamp. The light catches in his white hair, giving it a faint golden glow against the dark street. He straightens slightly—not stiff, not formal. Just present. Then he knocks. Two quiet raps. Patient.

  The door opens a fraction. An elderly woman stands inside, grey hair pulled neatly into a bun. Her expression is sharp and serious, eyes studying him carefully.

  Gabriel gives her a small, polite half-smile. "Evening," he says softly. He holds out the collar.

  She takes it without a word, turning it over in her hands. Her fingers find the hidden seam and work the papers free. Thin documents slide into her palm. She scans them quickly. Her eyes lift to his face. From where I'm crouched, I can see the shift in her expression—concern settling in, heavy and quiet.

  Gabriel's smile fades just a fraction. Not entirely. Just enough to show he understands. She says something low. Brief. He nods once.

  "Yes, ma'am," he replies gently. The door closes. The lock clicks.

  Gabriel doesn't move right away. He rocks back on his heels slightly, staring down at his boots like he's counting the cobblestones. Then he exhales—not heavy, not shaken. Just thoughtful. After a moment, he lifts his head again. And the faint grin returns. He turns and walks back toward the staircase, hands still in his pockets, shoulders loose.

  I fold my arms.

  "What was that about?"

  "What was what about?"

  "The look she gave you." I lower my voice. "She didn't look pleased."

  Gabriel tilts his head slightly, considering.

  "She rarely does."

  "Gabriel."

  "Yes, Wendy?"

  "Don't—" I stop myself, exhale. "What did she say?"

  He studies me for a second. Not teasing now. Just steady.

  "She said she received it."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it."

  "That's not all she said." A pause. He shifts his weight, glancing briefly toward the tailor's door before looking back at me.

  "She asked if we were followed."

  My stomach tightens.

  "Were we?"

  "No."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes."

  "You didn't just assume?"

  "Daniel." His tone softens slightly. "I checked."

  I search his face for something more. Something he isn't saying.

  "And the way she looked at you?"

  Gabriel's expression doesn't change.

  "She's our contact."

  "That doesn't explain it."

  "It does."

  Frustration prickles under my skin.

  "You're doing that thing again."

  "What thing?"

  "Where you answer without actually answering."

  He steps closer, lowering his voice. "There isn't more to answer."

  I don't fully believe that. But he doesn't look shaken. He doesn't look afraid. He looks the same as he always does—calm, awake, slightly amused.

  "You worry too much," he adds quietly. I glare at him. He grins. Then, softer—almost sincere—he nudges my shoulder.

  "She was the contact. She took the message. That's all that matters."

  I hesitate another second before nodding.

  "Fine," I mutter.

  But as we turn toward the staircase, I can't help glancing once more at the tailor's door. And I don't miss the way Gabriel doesn't.

  ***

  The garage smells like oil and cold metal when we slip inside. Micha? is sitting on two stacked crates near the workbench, elbows on his knees, chin in his palm. He looks up when the door shuts behind us.

  Cień doesn't. He's already at the table, leaning over it, hands planted on either side. Waiting. He doesn't ask if we made it.

  Gabriel steps forward anyway. "Delivery complete."

  Cień nods once. Not surprised.

  "Good," he says simply. He straightens slightly and slides a folded paper across the table—not the original document, but notes. Clean. Precise.

  Cień taps the paper once. "The document from town hall and the decoded message align." He lists them without emotion. "Mass arrests. Property seizures. Transport schedules. Relocation orders. A military sweep tomorrow morning."

  Cień's eyes lift to meet ours. "We do not assume it is real."

  Gabriel folds his arms. "But we don't ignore it either."

  "No."

  Cień moves around the table, pacing once.

  "We need confirmation."

  Micha? lifts his head. "Of what exactly?"

  "Time," Cień says. "Exact hour."

  Gabriel watches him. "And who's named."

  "Yes."

  "And the destination," Gabriel adds. "Where the transports go."

  Cień nods once. "All of it. And the only place those answers exist is where the Nazi General keeps his final orders at home before execution. His study. Second floor. East side."

  "I'm so confused," I mutter to myself hopelessly.

  "You're serious?" Gabriel lets out a short laugh. "We're breaking into a Nazi General's estate?"

  "Yes," Cień replies calmly. "Try not to sound so excited."

  "Alrighty," Gabriel chirps, leaning back against the table. "And how do you suggest we stroll into that?"

  "New Year's."

  That gets our attention.

  Cień's voice remains even. "He is hosting at home. Officers. Friends. Family. Cars in the drive. Music. Fireworks. Guards are strict in public. Uneven in private. Complacent when comfortable. A man hosting in his own house feels untouchable."

  Gabriel's grin returns faintly. "So we walk in the front door with party hats?"

  "No."

  Cień points to a rough sketch of the block. "The mansion backs to another property. Tight lines. Small yards. Outbuildings. Fences."

  He traces the route with one finger. "Neighboring yards. Alley. Storage shed. Rear entry."

  "Less visible," I murmur.

  "Less expected," he corrects.

  Gabriel's eyes sharpen now. Excited, but focused. "Which makes it possible."

  "Which makes it dangerous," Cień replies.

  A pause. Then Cień stills. Something shifts. He places both hands flat on the table again, leaning forward.

  His face darkens slightly. "I will not be seen at that house," he says.

  Gabriel straightens. "Why?"

  "Because I've already been seen too often. If I appear at the General's residence on the same night his private documents disappear, I become connected to both."

  Gabriel studies him. "You think they're watching you?"

  "I think," Cień replies calmly, "that when someone starts pulling at threads, people notice."

  Silence settles heavier.

  "I cannot disappear from view right now," Cień continues. "If I do, it confirms something."

  "Confirms what?" Micha? asks, shifting on the crate.

  "That I've found what I'm looking for."

  Micha? looks between us. "So... who goes?"

  Cień's eyes move to Gabriel. Then to me. Then to Micha?.

  "You three. You are to enter after midnight, when the music is loudest. You follow my instructions, and whatever you do, you do not improvise."

  Gabriel smiles faintly. "I never improvise."

  Cień glares at him, entirely unconvinced, when suddenly, the room seems to fall quiet again as I catch myself staring intensely at the sketch laid out upon the table.

  The house is drawn in careful lines. Windows. Entrances. The study marked neatly in the corner.

  No... The words come out before I can stop them.

  "This—no."

  Gabriel looks at me with concern. "What?"

  I take a step back from the table. "The heist at Town Hall was one thing," I say, my voice distant. "That was an empty building."

  Cień watches me without blinking. "The fields. The patrols. The rooftops."

  My hands won't stay still. "That was stupid. That was dangerous. But it wasn't—" I can't finish the sentence. If we're caught in a government office, we get arrested. If we're caught near patrols, we run. If we're caught in a Nazi General's house—

  My throat tightens. "This isn't the same," I say, but it comes out barely above a whisper.

  "It's a party, pup," Gabriel reassures me with a smirk. "There'll be distractions."

  He doesn't understand. None of them understand!

  "No, you don't—" I stop. I can't say it. I can't say why.

  "Then explain," Gabriel presses.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I shake my head instead. "I can't."

  I keep backing away from the table. "I can't! I'm not doing it!"

  "Daniel—"

  My heel hits something behind me—a crate. I didn't realize how far I'd backed away. I need air. I need out!

  The door flies open so hard it slams against the brick. Cold air burns against my face as I bolt into the night, not slowing until I'm clear across the street.

  The night is sharp. Fireworks crack somewhere in the distance. Laughter drifts faintly from other houses preparing for midnight. I grab the nearest fence and bend forward, fingers curling into the wire. My lungs burn. I squeeze my eyes shut. Stupid. Stupid. I shouldn't have done that. Not like that.

  The garage door opens again behind me. Footsteps cross the street. Slow, deliberate, silent.

  Gabriel stops a few feet away. He doesn't crowd me. Doesn't touch me. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead like he's admiring the darkness.

  For a moment, he says nothing. Then, lightly—

  "Nice night."

  I don't respond. A breeze moves through the trees. Somewhere, someone cheers early.

  Gabriel tilts his head slightly toward me. "Cold," he adds. "But clear."

  My grip tightens on the fence. Silence stretches as he shifts his weight.

  "You remember what I told you once," he says casually. "About fear."

  I don't move.

  "It's like that annoying ringing in your ear," he continues. "Feels huge. Feels urgent. But most of the time it's just noise."

  He glances at me now, softer. "If you let it scream long enough, it'll convince you it's important."

  My breathing starts to slow, but I keep my eyes shut.

  "I'm not saying ignore your gut," Gabriel goes on. "You know I don't do that." A faint huff of a laugh. "If something's wrong, we don't touch it again."

  A pause. "But if it's right... and if you know it's right..." He shrugs slightly. "Then fear doesn't get to decide."

  The fireworks pop again in the distance.

  Gabriel looks back out into the night. "We've walked rooftops," he says lightly. "Stolen from a government office. Outran patrols."

  Another small pause. "You're not weak, Daniel."

  My face burns hotter than the cold air. I hate that I ran. I hate that he saw it.

  Gabriel doesn't push, however, and after a moment, he nudges the fence lightly with his shoe. "Take a minute," he says. "The ringing usually fades."

  He goes quiet again, standing beside me but not too close. I swallow hard. One step forward, and I'm in. One step back, and it's over. I don't move. Not yet.

  We move through the neighboring yard in silence. Fences here are low. Crooked. Close enough that I can see the next house's laundry line swaying in the dark.

  Gabriel slips over first. Micha? follows. I hesitate only a second before climbing after them.

  The properties are packed tight together—back doors facing back doors, outbuildings leaning into one another like conspirators. No grand estate. No sweeping lawns. Just narrow strips of dirt and shadow.

  We cut behind a woodpile, duck past a chicken coop, then crouch along a hedge that borders the General's courtyard. I part the brush just enough to see.

  The mansion rises beyond it. Warm, golden light spills from the first-floor windows, glowing against the snow-dusted ground. Laughter carries into the night. A violin. Glasses clinking. Someone shouts something cheerful inside. It doesn't belong to this world. The brightness feels wrong. Too alive.

  Cars and military trucks crowd the drive and spill along the edges of the courtyard, metal glinting faintly beneath lantern light. Doors slam. Boots crunch against gravel. At the main entrance, two armed soldiers stand rigid beneath the archway, rifles slung, scanning the grounds. I swallow.

  For a second, it feels unreal—like something from one of my superhero comics. The kind where the hero slips past guards and steals secrets from villains' lairs. Only this isn't ink and paper. If we're caught, there's no next issue. My pulse pounds in my ears.

  We keep low along the hedge until the courtyard opens fully before us. The fireworks haven't started yet, but the air already smells like smoke.

  Gabriel gestures toward a narrow shed tucked against the neighboring fence. Its slanted roof angles toward the mansion's east wall. The study.

  Micha? goes first, bracing his foot against the fence post and hauling himself up onto the shed roof. The wood creaks under his weight. Gabriel follows with practiced ease. I hesitate only a second before climbing after them. The roof is slick with frost.

  From here, the balcony is closer than it looked from the hedge—a wrought-iron railing no more than a few feet above us, attached to a set of tall glass doors glowing faintly from inside. Laughter drifts out from somewhere below. Music swells.

  Gabriel crouches and motions. Now. Micha? grips the edge of the roof, pushes off, and catches the balcony railing. The metal rattles softly as he swings his weight over.

  My pulse spikes. No one below reacts.

  Gabriel goes next—light, quick, controlled. Then it's my turn. I wipe my palms on my coat. If I slip, I fall straight into the courtyard. Into the light. Into the trucks and boots and rifles.

  I move before I can think. Two steps. Push. For half a second, there's nothing under me. My hands catch iron. The cold bites through my skin as my fingers lock around the railing. My foot scrapes against stone, searching for leverage. Don't look down. Don't look down.

  Gabriel's hand grips my wrist and steadies me just enough. I haul myself up and over.

  We crouch on the balcony, backs pressed to the wall. Below us, music swells louder. Someone cheers. Glass shatters in laughter. Warm golden light spills through the tall doors beside us. The curtains hang half-drawn, shadows blurring as they shift inside.

  The hallway is warmer than the balcony. Heat wraps around us the second we slip inside—thick, perfumed air, heavy with smoke and wine. A red carpet stretches the length of the corridor, swallowing our footsteps. Gilded frames line the walls. Gold light spills from sconces overhead, soft and almost dreamlike, and all of a sudden, it doesn't feel like a war anymore. It feels like a gala.

  We move carefully down the hall. To the left, the staircase opens into the main reception room below. Music pours upward—violins, piano, bursts of laughter. Glass clinks. Someone calls out a toast in German.

  At the edge of the staircase landing, two uniformed men stand by a tall window, peering out into the night. They're not guarding. Just watching.

  We press ourselves against the corner before the landing, backs against the wall, breathing shallow. Gabriel leans slightly, mapping the space with his eyes. Micha? waits.

  Then—CRACK. The sound punches the air. A chest-thumping detonation that hits a split second before the rolling BOOM that follows, low and heavy, vibrating through the floorboards beneath my feet.

  The mansion trembles. For one irrational second, I think: Air raid.

  The two men at the window don't flinch. They lean closer. I edge forward before I can stop myself and glance past the corner.

  Through the glass—

  A blinding white-orange flash tears across the darkness outside. It's instantaneous. Violent. Like a giant strobe. The entire hallway explodes into harsh daylight for a fraction of a second. The window frame's shadow slices across the wall behind the men in sharp black lines.

  Then darkness slams back in. A second later, high above the town, a pinpoint of white ignites in the sky—

  And vanishes. A faint, distant pop follows; a brief, merciless star that burns out and leaves behind a small smear of smoke drifting in the moonlight.

  The two men laugh.

  One of them raises a glass toward the sky.

  I lean closer, just enough to hear. The older man's uniform is heavy with medals that catch the lamplight. Ribbons. Silver eagles. A chest that gleams with honor. His beard is long and white, carefully kept. His eyes, when he turns slightly, are not sharp or cruel. They're almost... kind.

  "Well," he says, voice warm and amused, "that should wake the town."

  The younger officer chuckles. "A proper welcome to the new year, Herr General."

  General. So this is him. The General smiles faintly and shakes his head. "My daughter hates it," he says. "Says it rattles her windows and frightens the cats."

  The younger man grins. "Children."

  "She is not a child," the General replies gently. "Not anymore." There's pride in his voice. "She insists on watching from the upstairs balcony every year. Says she wants to see the smoke drift over the rooftops." He glances upward briefly, toward the higher floors. "Stubborn," he adds, but the word is fond.

  Another distant rumble rolls across the sky. The younger officer lifts his glass again. "To the Reich."

  The General's smile fades just slightly—not gone, but thinner now. "To the new year," he corrects. They drink. Gabriel's fingers tighten on my sleeve. The General shifts slightly at the window.

  "Go," I whisper. He doesn't move fast enough. "Go. Go—go." I pull back into the shadow, already moving as Gabriel and Micha? slip past the staircase while the two men remain fixed on the sky. We move deeper into the east wing, the music fading to a distant hum behind us.

  ***

  I'm focused on the doors ahead when I realize the footsteps behind me have stopped. I turn. Micha? stands a few paces back in the hallway, staring down at the carpet like he's forgotten where he is. His hand presses to his forehead, fingers curling into his hair.

  "Micha??" I whisper, stepping toward him.

  Micha? swallows. "My brother," he says. The words barely make it out. I step closer. "What about him?"

  Micha? lifts his eyes to mine, and there's something raw there—something he hasn't said before. "They have his identification disc," he says quietly. "The metal tag they issue. It splits in two."

  I frown. "His what?"

  "I found out after," he continues, voice tight. "One half stays with the body. The other is sent back. Filed. Stored. Somewhere official."

  Understanding settles slowly. "And you think it's here?" I ask.

  He nods once. "This house handles regional records. Confiscated effects. Personal items."

  Gabriel exhales sharply. "Miki, that's not why we're here."

  Micha?'s jaw trembles, but he doesn't look away from me. "They told people he ran," he says. "That he deserted." His fingers curl like he's gripping something small. "If I have the tag, I can prove he didn't. That he was there. That he—" He cuts himself off. That he existed.

  The hallway feels tighter suddenly. Gabriel shakes his head. "We have bigger problems."

  Micha?'s gaze snaps fully to me now. For a second, I see him younger — not the quiet, steady boy who followed us over fences tonight, but someone who used to stand in a doorway watching his brother leave. I step forward and rest my hand on his shoulder.

  "Of course we'll look for it," I say softly. Relief flickers across his face so fast it almost hurts to see.

  Gabriel mutters something under his breath, but after a moment, he gestures down the side corridor. "Fine. Quick, Miki. You lead."

  Micha? nods once. "I know where they'd keep it." And he turns toward a narrow passage branching off the hall.

  The side corridor is dim and quiet. Micha? stops at the last door on the right. Locked. Gabriel doesn't sigh this time. He just moves. "Watch the hall," he mutters.

  I step back toward the corner where the corridor meets the main passage, keeping one eye on the staircase. Gabriel takes the opposite side, listening for footsteps.

  Metal scrapes softly behind us. The lock clicks. The door opens just enough for Micha? to slip inside. I don't follow. I stay where I am, pulse hammering, staring down the hallway while music and laughter drift from below.

  A burst of voices rises from the main hall. I freeze. They pass. Behind me, drawers slide open.

  "Hurry," Gabriel whispers. Silence. Then another drawer. A small metallic clink. For a second, nothing. Then—

  A sharp inhale. I glance back. Micha? stands in the doorway now, eyes shining but steady, a thin half-disc of metal clenched in his fist.

  For a second, none of us moves. Then Gabriel exhales. "You did it, Miki."

  I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and clap Micha? lightly on the shoulder. "You found him." His smile is small, but real.

  Footsteps echo suddenly from the main corridor. Not passing. Coming closer. Gabriel's head snaps toward the sound. "Inside," he mouths. Too late. Voices round the corner.

  Without thinking, Gabriel grabs my sleeve and pulls me toward the nearest side door—a narrow servants' exit we must've missed earlier. Cold air slams into us as we stumble outside into the rear garden. The door swings shut. The latch clicks. I spin back immediately.

  "Micha?—"

  Inside, boots cross the hallway. Through the thin wall and old glass, I hear him whisper sharply, "What happened?"

  "Patrol," Gabriel breathes toward the door. "They came up the hall." There's a pause. Music swells faintly through the house.

  Then Micha?'s voice again, steadier now. "I'm still near the study."

  Gabriel looks at me. The mission. The documents. I shake my head. "We can't leave him."

  "If we go back in, we risk all three of us," Gabriel says quietly. "They're moving through that corridor now."

  Inside, a door opens somewhere. Closes. Micha? speaks through the wall again. "I know where the records are. The east cabinet. I can get them."

  "No," I whisper immediately. Then, softer: "Daniel. I can do this." My stomach twists. If something were to happen to him—

  Gabriel's voice is calm. Firm. "Miki's careful. You've seen that."

  Another set of footsteps passes inside. Too close. Gabriel grips my arm. "We move now. Circle back to the hedge."

  "I'm not leaving him."

  "You're not," Gabriel says. "You're trusting him."

  Inside, Micha?'s voice comes one last time, faint but certain. "I'll meet you at the fence."

  A long second. Then I press my palm briefly against the cold wall. "Be careful," I whisper. No answer.

  Gabriel tugs my sleeve. I hesitate before following him into the dark, the music and warm light fading behind us. And with every step away from the mansion, the guilt settles heavier in my chest.

  We don't stop walking. The mansion fades behind us, swallowed by trees and distance, but I keep glancing back anyway.

  "Do you think he's okay?"

  Gabriel doesn't slow. "Yes."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes."

  "We could circle back. Just to check."

  He exhales slowly through his nose. "Daniel."

  "What if someone saw him? What if—"

  "He's careful," Gabriel cuts in, not unkindly. "Calmer than you and me put together."

  That earns a reluctant huff from me. Still. "We shouldn't have left."

  "We didn't leave him," Gabriel says. "We gave him space to do what he said he could."

  The forest thickens around us. Moonlight filters through bare branches, silvering the path. Frost crunches softly beneath our boots. After a while, the silence stretches too long.

  "Sooo," I say, trying to shake the heaviness from my voice, "where are you taking me now, I wonder? Hmm. Maybe an expedition across the Tatra Mountains to slay the Wawel Dragon beneath a dark cavern?"

  Gabriel snorts. Encouraged, I continue, "Oh! Orrr maybe we're infiltrating a hidden castle guarded by wolves and cursed knights—"

  He laughs again, quieter this time. "Not so extraordinary, I assure you."

  "Oh, don't tell me it's boring," I protest. "After tonight? I expect a proper adventure."

  He steps closer suddenly. Before I can react, his hands cover my eyes.

  "Gabriel—"

  "Trust me."

  He guides me forward. Branches brush my coat. We push through thicker brush, ducking under low limbs. I stumble once; he steadies me without a word.

  "Am I about to fall into a river?"

  "No."

  "Are there wolves?"

  "No."

  "Is this revenge for all the questions about Micha??"

  He chuckles softly. "Maybe."

  We stop. His hands lift away. I blink against the moonlight. And then I see it.

  Tucked between two tall pines stands a small wooden treehouse, built sturdy but simple. A rope ladder hangs down the side. A tiny balcony wraps around the front, just big enough for two people to sit with their legs dangling over the edge. The wood is weathered but solid. It looks... safe.

  My eyes widen. "Awwww, it's adorable!"

  Gabriel recoils as I've insulted him. "It's not adorable. It's a stronghold!"

  I laugh. "It's both." He shakes his head, but there's a faint smile there he can't quite hide.

  The moonlight pools across the balcony railing. For the first time since the mansion, my chest doesn't feel tight. It feels light.