Bronwyn and Enoch were separated when the second train came.

The latter stayed behind in Drancy for days, and watched how she was replaced by a thousand other people. The person who now occupied Victor's bed was a tall, dark-haired man with suntanned skin and a nose that seemed to have been broken multiple times, and who didn't share any personal details with Enoch other than the fact that his name was "Sharon". He didn't wear a bright, yellow star on his clothes, something that had surprised the young Englishman. He wasn't a Jew, he wasn't a Roma – Enoch had seen them in the camp, too – he seemed perfectly fine both physically and mentally speaking, so why was he here?

This little mystery managed to keep his mind somewhat occupied for the biggest part of the day now Victor, Bronwyn and Claire were all gone, because the little horrors of what had become his everyday life still went on. There were suicides every day now, even in broad daylight, even now there were over 7,000 people in the camp which meant you never got a private moment. Having this much people in a place that was only meant to hold between 700 and 800 was disgusting and drove many people crazy, but the Nazis didn't seem to care.

A week after Bronwyn had gone he had his first encounter with the English officer she'd told him about – a tall, stoic-faced man with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything. Jack Bentham didn't shout like the other men in charge – he stayed quiet and watched, like a bird of prey. If Enoch were to believe the woman in his barrack who'd told him about Bentham, his brother Myron was a high school teacher back in England.

'He's scary, isn't he?' she'd asked Enoch as the man had walked past them. 'It's his eyes... as if he can see everything here.'

It wasn't two days after that, however, that he experienced first-hand how cruel the man could be.

They were treated poorly, that wasn't a thing that surprised him anymore. By now he wasn't the only one who'd gotten into fights with a soldier and came back to their barrack with blue eyes and bleeding lips; he'd even heard that people had been shot on the terrain but he didn't know if that was true.

Jack Bentham, however, was worse than three of the other officers together.

It was another hot, summer day and again, the weather seemed to have zero mercy for the prisoners. Enoch, who wasn't used to such hot weather in the summer, had trouble keeping himself from fainting - there wasn't enough water and if he didn't watch out he was probably going to pass out from dehydration.

The thing that drew his attention as he walked back to the barracks - he was too tired to eat and just wanted to lie down - was the fact that the terrain looked weirdly empty. Of course there were still people walking around, but for some reason it seemed... quiet.

Until he realised that there was something going on between the first and second barrack.

And he didn't know how it came that he hadn't heard anything, because as soon as he turned a corner the first thing he saw was how Bentham kicked a man between the ribs.

People were watching, of course they were, but they weren't doing anything – they were keeping their distance, staring at what was happening with pale faces.

The man on the ground didn't even scream. From what Enoch could see his face was covered in blood and the ground on which he was kneeling down was slowly turning red as well – he was bleeding.

With a slight shock, Enoch recognised the man's features; Sharon. Good God, what had he done?

Without thinking, Enoch stepped forwards and tried/ to come closer, not thinking about Bentham at all, but someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He couldn't do anything, because if he did he would probably end up like the man on the ground, whatever he'd done to anger Bentham.

When the officer slowly stepped back, he was breathing heavily through his mouth as he wiped the sweat of his forehead. His hands were bloody, and so was the small knife in his hand.

'Monster...' A woman muttered behind him, but only Enoch heard her.

Bentham suddenly seemed to realise people had gathered around them and looked at them with an almost bewildered expression on his face, as if he felt trapped. But then the look in his eyes changed, he put the knife away and his cold stare returned.

'Go to your barracks. Now.'

At once, the crowd scattered. Except Enoch, who stepped forwards.

'Did you not hear what I said, boy?' Bentham now looked straight at him, and a shiver went down his spine. He did not blink, however.

'I did, sir,' he answered, trying to keep his voice calm. 'I'm sorry, sir, I just wanted to help him.'

'He can help himself,' Bentham answered. He had stepped towards him and looked down on Enoch, hands behind his back. 'Go back to your barrack. That's an order.'

Enoch gritted his teeth. 'Yes, sir.'

So of course he waited around the corner until he was sure Bentham had gone before he quickly approached Sharon, who was still laying on the ground. Enoch hesitantly reached for his shoulder and turned him around so he was lying on his back, and he involuntarily held his breath.

The man looked absolutely awful. There seemed to be cuts on every inch of his face and although they weren't very deep and the blood had dried up for the most part it still delivered a horrible sight. His eyes were both closed and he didn't react when Enoch quietly asked: 'Can – can you hear me?'

So he was basically unconscious. Great.

But when Enoch tried to pull him off the ground he was suddenly pushed backwards by a strong set of hands and he almost fell over.

'Get away from me, boy...'

Sharon had opened his eyes and tried to sit, clearly hurting all over. Enoch just stared at him for a few moments, before he opened his mouth to speak. 'Why did he do this to you?'

'That's none of your damn business,' Sharon answered shortly. He kept turning his head away, as if he didn't want to look Enoch in the eye, and miraculously managed to get back up on his feet. He staggered backwards and almost fell, but Enoch grabbed his wrist just in time.

'We need to get you to a doctor.'

'I don't need a doctor.'

'Sure you don't. Do you really want to let those wounds get infected?'

A short, irritated silence.

'Thought so. Just let me help you.'

He pulled one of Sharon's arms around his shoulders so the tall man could lean on him and slowly started walking.

'Good Lord, what happened to him?'

Alain Somnusson just stepped outside as they came walking towards him. Enoch just shook his head. 'Got into a fight, sir.'

'Did not.'

Sharon really didn't seem like he wanted to be here, or be helped by doctor Somnusson, but that was none of his business. He instead turned to the doctor and asked: 'Is your son inside?'

He could see how the man immediately turned suspicious by the way he narrowed his eyes. 'Why? And aren't you supposed to be returning to your barrack?'

'I am, but I – I need just thirty seconds with him, sir, please –'

'Enoch!'

Oh, thank God.

He didn't look at doctor Somnusson or Sharon even once and quickly stepped towards Horace, who immediately grabbed his hand and pulled him around the corner.

'Hi,' Enoch said, a bit out of breath all of the sudden, and smiled. 'How, eh, how are you?'

'Good, now you're finally here,' Horace answered, looking around before carefully taking his hands. 'I missed you.'

'I missed you, too. If you hadn't been here I probably wouldn't have survived.'

Well, I –' The French boy suddenly averted his gaze. 'I need to talk to you about something.'

Enoch instantly stopped smiling and the happy feeling he'd gotten completely disappeared. 'Really? What is it?'

Horace squeezed his hands so hard it started to hurt, not looking him in the eyes. It took him a while for him to actually open his mouth to speak and when he did his voice was trembling.

'You need to listen very carefully, Enoch, because I'm speaking the truth. And you need to promise you won't do anything stupid.'

'I promise.' The words were more of an automatic reaction than the actual truth.

'I – I had a dream last night.' Horace looked to his left, but no-one was there. 'And I know – I know how that sounds, I know, but you have to believe me...'

'Just tell me what's wrong, Horace.'

Horace paused, swallowed and took a deep breath. 'Okay. So... I had a dream. And in that dream, they... They took you away from me.' His voice cracked.

'Horace...' Enoch, not even looking around to see if anyone was close, pulled the French boy towards him. 'We're going to get separated eventually. You know – you know we can't stay together.' He paused, before continuing.

'But as I said, I'll come back for you. I'll come back to Paris to look for you, even if we can't stay together. Even then, I'll come back for you and we'll find each other.'

Horace's lips trembled as Enoch gently pulled one hand free to place it under Horace's chin and carefully lift it up. He smiled faintly when they looked each other in the eye and quickly kissed him before he let go again. He was dead if someone saw them together like that.

'Promise?' Horace asked.

Enoch smiled.

'Promise.'