Brittany collapsed on the couch, her crying panicked the way it had been the previous times that she thought she'd lost me. She was so fragile, so easily broken. She buried her face into her knees and grasped her dress as if it was me she was holding onto, me she wasn't willing to let go, me she'd die for if that were what it took to keep me alive. I had promised her that I'd never leave her. I promised. But I couldn't keep that promise now.

I didn't know what to hate more—the desire to take her with me or the desire to leave her behind. Leaving her behind would be safer. I knew that, and I told it to myself over and over again, ever since we'd been in hiding. Leaving her behind would be safer. So why was this so difficult to accept now?

I knew why. If I were to leave her behind and never return, if she lost both me and our baby, she would cease to live. Even if she were caught, if she were kept alive to prolong her torment, she wouldn't really be there. Was it worth it to put her through this suffering only to never return and leave her as dead as she would be had she come?

Rolf and Nikolaus stood back and gazed uneasily at us, their eyes jumping between a panic-stricken Brittany and me. I sighed, closed my eyes briefly, and then made my way to the couch, sitting at Brittany's side and taking her hand in mine. With my other hand, I lifted her chin so that she'd look at me. Her eyes blazed blue within the dampness of the tears, and when she looked at me, when she begged me with her gaze to always be at her side, when her hand grasped mine as if she were hanging by it from a cliff, I knew that no matter where we were, what we were to do, and the reasons for our doing so, I could, and would, never leave her.

Somewhere in my peripheral vision, I saw Rolf and Nikolaus shuffle out of the room and close the door after them. I brought my thumb to Brittany's cheek to wipe away her tears, and she closed her eyes and leaned into my open palm. My eyes roamed her face, the golden hair that draped across her eyes, the light freckles that peppered the bridge of her nose, her bottom lip, quivering the way it always had when she fell to pieces and sought comfort. I found myself flying back in time to the first time that I'd seen her, the first time that I'd known her love, the first time that I'd kissed her, and I wondered how a girl like her fell in love with a girl like me. Not because she was Aryan and I was Romani. Not because she was perceived as superior and I as an inhuman creature, not worthy of her presence, let alone her love. I wondered how she fell in love with me because she was so beautiful, so innocent; because she was everything that was good in this miserable world we called home.

I leaned in gently and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. "I'm not going to leave you," I whispered tenderly against her lips.

She smiled, a sad smile but a smile that seemed comforted by my words, even if only slightly. "I think I've found my Peter Pan," she said, her eyes opening to the loving gaze she saved only for me.

"Your Peter Pan?" I asked, my brow furrowed in confusion.

"Mhmm," she nodded and her smile grew a bit wider. "The person who saved me from the world I wanted to escape."

I smiled and delicately pushed her hair away from her face. "Are we flying to Neverland, then?"

She nodded again and looked down, her thumb grazing over my hand. "But we need our Tinker Bell to fly," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

I placed a gentle kiss on her head and squeezed her hand. "We'll find him," I said, and lifted her chin to me again. Her eyes were worried, the same overpowering worry and dread that I felt inside. "We'll find him," I said again. I wasn't sure whether I was saying it to reassure Brittany, or to reassure myself.

"Will we be leaving now?" Rolf asked when I beckoned him and Nikolaus back into the room. "Will Brittany accompany us?" he added quietly as he passed me, glancing at Brittany momentarily before lowering his gaze to me again.

"No and yes," I said, closing the door after Nikolaus had reentered the room. I walked back to the couch and sat once again by Brittany, who had composed herself after I assured her that I wouldn't leave her behind. "Leaving now with no solid plan would be rash—we must prepare one before we act."

"I have to agree," Nikolaus nodded. "You'd surely be caught."

"How do you propose we should find your son?" Rolf asked. "The Dietrich is famous for its Nazi attachments. The place must be crawling with soldiers."

"I don't know," I admitted, leaning back into the couch and sighing deeply. "It would be incredibly difficult."

"What if we disguise ourselves?" Brittany offered. I turned my gaze to her to find her alert and ready for action—two characteristics that I knew she possessed but that I hadn't sensed since our parting with Hans. Hope began to build up inside me. If Brittany could clear her head from the grief of Hans's absence, as she was now, we'd have a much better chance of rescuing him—not just because Brittany would be one more to add to our force, but also because I would feel much more confident and strong if she was confident and strong by my side. No one instilled courage in me like Brittany.

"How do you mean?" Rolf asked, shifting uneasily on the bed.

"I could wear a hat that would cover my hair, and maybe a few extra layers underneath my dress to provide thickness to my body. You could dress in one of Nikolaus's outfits, and maybe borrow a pair of glasses. Santana…" She surveyed me, trying to think of a possible way to disguise our very obvious difference of skin and hair colors. "Does Johanna own any netted veils?" she turned to Nikolaus.

"Of course," he answered immediately.

"Then perhaps she has one dark enough to conceal Santana's face—we can't risk her being recognized as Romani." She looked at me for approval, and I nodded quickly to show it. I couldn't have thought of a better plan myself.

Nikolaus stood, looked at the three of us for a moment, then nodded curtly and made his way out of the room. We turned back to each other. "The disguises will definitely be of help," I said, unconsciously finding Brittany's hand and lacing her fingers through mine. "So we would use our false identities… Maybe we could rent our own room in the hotel? That way we would have as much time as we need to think out our actions, and we'd be able to find his room without needing to come back here for the night. That would only be a hindrance."

"Where would we acquire the money to pay for a room at the Dietrich?" Rolf asked, biting his lip. "We have none."

"I'm positive that my parents left some money with my sister for our use," Brittany said confidently. "It should be enough to rent us a room."

"How will we find Herr Eberhardt's room once we're at the hotel?" I asked. "If the Dietrich is as prestigious as you make it seem, it must be very large."

Rolf and Brittany were quiet, deep in thought. It was out of the question for me to ask of his whereabouts—I'd surely be discovered as Romani. That left Brittany and Rolf to search for his room, but the question was who would be more easily recognized. Quite frankly, I wasn't keen to let Brittany wander around a hotel that was swarming with Nazi dogs. I trusted her completely, but I didn't trust any of them around her. I didn't want to jeopardize Rolf's safety either, but I couldn't see any other way of going about this obstacle.

When I looked at Rolf, I could see he was on the same train of thought. "Nikolaus's clothes wouldn't be an appropriate disguise if I'm to find the room…" he said, scratching the back of his neck.

I nodded in agreement, my thumb stroking Brittany's hand subconsciously. He couldn't dress in his Nazi uniform—he'd be too easily recognized and would never come back alive. But he'd need to disguise himself as someone who wouldn't be suspected when walking around the hotel. That really only left one choice. "You'd need to dress as a hotel employee," I said and shook my head lightly. "But I haven't the slightest idea where you could find Dietrich employee attire."

"Perhaps if I could access the employee-only division, I'd find a uniform there," he said, but didn't look too convinced by his own words. "Though I don't see how I could do that."

"What if…" Brittany began, licking her lips in thought. "If you were asked what your business was in the employee-only division, you could say that you're a Nazi official and are looking for one of the hotel employees. And when they ask for what purpose, you could say that your business must be kept confidential."

"That could work," I agreed. "After all, your alias, by his papers, is a Nazi official."

"Very true," Rolf nodded. "I think we've found our solution, then. Once I'm inside the quarters, I'll search for an employee uniform, quickly change out of Nikolaus's attire, and come out as an employee."

"And then you'd have access to the room-assignment files," I said, inhaling deeply. "If everything goes according to plan, that is."

"I'll be careful," Rolf assured us.

I gazed at him. His eyes, round and olive-green, shone with the confidence of a new plan. I couldn't help but remember Simka, whose eyes always glowed with hope the way Rolf's did now. I wondered what had made him decide to risk his life to save our baby. He had no relation to Hans other than the fact that he knew his mothers. And yet here he was, all armed and prepared to aid us in our son's rescue, when he could be escaping out of the country and leaving us behind to deal with our problems on our own. He was willing to sacrifice himself for us, just as Simka had. And as much as I hated myself for it, I wanted to accept his help, because I knew that we would never be able to rescue Hans without him. I only hoped that there would be some way we could repay him if we all escaped, and if this rescue operation was a success. "Thank you," I said quietly.

Rolf's eyebrows rose. He seemed to be surprised by my words. "There's no need to thank me."

"There is much need," Brittany said, squeezing my hand. "Thank you," she repeated. "For everything."

Rolf's eyebrows rose further, but then his expression slowly melted into a sad smile. "You're welcome," he said, and for a moment I could swear I saw a little boy smiling at us, a bashful smile, but a smile that knew much sorrow. It occurred to me that Rolf must have been no more than a year older than us, which meant that his childhood was snatched from him just as our childhoods were snatched from us. There were those who had been forced to grow into adults, though they were still young. There were those who had forgotten what it was like to be a child, those who longed to push away their childhoods, and those who fought to prove themselves as fully-grown adults. And there were those who still felt the child inside them, who wrapped him in blankets and walls and protected him from the cruelty of the world that they had grown to know. We were like them. We were the children of war.

We stood and looked at each other, trying to see each other from foreign eyes, to know if we were recognizable. Rolf was wearing one of Nikolaus's suits, not too formal but formal enough to seem like an official, along with a matching brown fedora and a pair of thin, black-rimmed glasses. He was disoriented for a bit when he had just put the glasses on, but after a few minutes, he grew accustomed to seeing through them. Brittany was wearing a simple crimson dress, one of Johanna's, with a large white and red hat that covered most of her hair. I was wearing another one of Johanna's dresses, even simpler than Brittany's, mostly black with some white, and a dark netted veil to cover my face. Nikolaus and Johanna stood back and admired their work. "You'd fool me," Johanna said. Nikolaus nodded in agreement.

Anna gripped Brittany's hand tightly. She looked so much like Brittany. Same eyes, same nose, same lips, same innocence. It was like Brittany had cloned herself. And she now wore the same expression that Brittany had worn so often since our escape—lost, hopeless, hanging on desperately to something that wasn't there. "Are you leaving?" she asked quietly, and I could sense a hint of fear in her voice. "Will you come back?"

Brittany looked at her sister, a pained crease growing between her eyebrows. I could see that she didn't know how to answer her. She wanted to believe that she'd come back. I knew that Brittany wanted to take Anna with us when we escaped from Germany, but we both knew that wish might not be granted. We didn't know if we'd be able to return to Nikolaus and Johanna's apartment after we rescued Hans—to be completely honest, we didn't even know if we would be alive. One wrong move and we'd all be caught. One tap of the nail and the vase shatters into a thousand pieces.

Brittany leaned down and kissed her sister's forehead. "Be brave, Anna, okay?" she said. "Be brave and you'll make it through this."

Anna wiped a tear from her eye and nodded. Brittany straightened her back, looked at me, and sighed deeply. I looked for any signs of fragility, of fear, but there was none. Something had happened when I told Brittany that she had to stay behind. Something settled in her mind and made her as strong-willed as she used to be, before Hans, before we fell in love, when she had rescued me from the gas chambers. I could see that woman again, and I knew that if she was able to rescue me, she'd be able to rescue our son.

"I think it would be best to leave now," Rolf said carefully, and we turned our heads to him. "If we waited any longer, we'd be met with the mass of soldiers who come to the Dietrich to drink alcohol and dance with women at the restaurant. They come in the evening. It's nearly half after four now."

We nodded, and I shifted my gaze to Nikolaus. "Will you be able to drive us?"

"Of course," he said, and pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. "Here," he offered them to Brittany. "This is the money your parents left with Anna."

"You're not giving me all of it, are you?" she asked, concerned, as she took the bills into her hands. "I want to leave some of it with you."

"Brittany," Johanna began. "We've got enough money to take care of Anna. You'll find much more use in it, I assure you."

Brittany looked reluctant, but when she saw that Nikolaus and Johanna weren't going to change their minds, she nodded and looked down at the bills. She pulled a couple of them out and handed them to Rolf. "Here, it's better you pay for the hotel room."

He accepted them and looked expectantly at Nikolaus. The latter nodded curtly and led us out of the basement and to his automobile. Before we left, Anna gave Brittany one last hug goodbye, and then stood back with Johanna, watching as we climbed into the car and drove off down the deserted street.

The drive to Friedrichshagen took about thirty minutes, and was spent with apprehensive glances out the windows. Every time we spotted a Nazi soldier, all three of us turned our heads away, frightened that he might recognize us and send a force after us.

As it happened, we were able to reach the hotel in safety. Before we left the automobile, Nikolaus turned to us, shook Rolf's hand, and bid us good luck. "When you find your baby, you can return to our apartment. Just be sure you don't bring the Gestapo with you." We nodded. When, he said. Not if.

We exited the old BMW, and against our wishes, Nikolaus insisted he stay until we were inside. With one last wave goodbye, we turned to the grand doors of the hotel, glanced at each other apprehensively, and walked through them.

The key was to be confident. If we were suspicious, if we seemed like we were hiding something, then we were hiding something. Rolf carried our empty suitcases, props in our act, and walked to the front desk with conviction, Brittany by his side and me trailing shortly behind them. The Dietrich lobby was magnificent, though a little too ostentatious for me. A grandiose chandelier dangled from the tall ceiling, its countless crystals shimmering brilliantly under the strong light it provided. The front desk was made of polished wood, and a couple meters behind it was an entrance to a dimly-lit restaurant, by which stood two women who checked the identifications of the diners. Behind the front desk was a balding man in an expensive suit, and at the moment, his eyebrows were raised and his gaze was fixed directly on us.

When Rolf reached the front desk, he shot the man a half-smirk, nodding his head to him as a sign of respect. The man nodded back and said, "Good evening, Herr. How may I be of help?"

"We'd like a room, please," Rolf answered, entirely composed. It was incredible how relaxed he was in such a situation as this, or at least how relaxed he made himself seem.

"A room?" the man repeated, his eyes drifting to Brittany, and then to me. "I trust you have your papers?"

"Of course," Rolf said without a blink and calmly extracted them from his briefcase. With another confident smile and nod of the head, he passed them to the man, who politely accepted them and began to look over them. I prayed to Ángel that our forger was a good one.

There were people conversing in the lobby, and I risked a glance to my right to see who they were. I instantly snapped my head forward, because who I saw were Nazi soldiers, laughing among themselves and calling on the women who passed them. When I looked back at the man, I saw that he was closely examining our documents.

"Eva Vargaz, you say?" he raised his gaze to me. "Of what nationality?"

"Spanish," Rolf said immediately. "She's our maid, we've brought her since we predict our stay here to be somewhat long."

"And she's been cleared by the government?" the man questioned, his eyes directed at me.

"Of course," Rolf replied, and I marveled at how offended he made himself sound. "My wife and I are a distinguished Nazi family, I would never imagine hiring a woman who hadn't been cleared by the government."

The man nodded, his eyes lowering to the papers again. "Oskar and Klara Nacht," he said, nodding his head. "Yes, I think I've heard of you before."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you have," Rolf agreed. "Our deeds have not been small."

"Well, I suppose everything is in order then, Herr Nacht. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it is standard procedure."

"I understand," Rolf said, smiling a kind of smirk that he'd never smile were he not acting, but a kind of smirk that was often seen on faces of Nazi soldiers who thought themselves superior.

Rolf paid the man for a week's stay, which was costly, but he wanted to make his reason for bringing me believable. We were given the keys to a room on the third floor—far below the suites that we believed the monster who had our son to be in.

Everything was unraveling according to plan. That is, until Rolf suddenly pulled us aside and made sure we were facing the wall, but in a way that looked like we were simply deep in conversation.

"What's wrong?" Brittany whispered, her eyes round with horror. "Is he here?"

Rolf nodded silently, and for the first time that night, I saw his confidence waver. "He's behind me," he said quietly.

I risked a glance past Rolf, and felt myself turn cold when I saw the vile man standing only six or seven meters away from us, speaking heatedly with an older Nazi official, who had finely-trimmed gray hair and heartless eyes. The man was smiling the most unfeeling smile I'd ever seen at Herr Eberhardt, who seemed enraged. Whether by the man's smile or by another reason, I couldn't tell.

I wanted to hold onto Brittany's hand, I wanted to feel her warmth and be comforted by her presence, but I knew that doing so would be signing our death warrants. If we were to show any affection toward each other, we would undoubtedly be discovered. Instead, I looked at her face, panicked but attempting to hide it, and took comfort in her features and the beauty that marked each and every one of them.

"I'm not going to take responsibility for her actions!" Herr Eberhardt's voice cut into our broken fantasy like a blade into flesh. "Why don't her parents take responsibility for her actions?"

"Because her parents are dead, Richart," the man said coldly. Brittany closed her eyes. Confirmation of the unknown. "Someone has to take responsibility for her actions."

"Why don't you let her take responsibility for her own actions?" Herr Eberhardt spat, his face crimson with anger.

"Because she's nowhere to be found," the man said, his callous smile faltering.

"Why am I being blamed for her actions, then? Is it my fault she escaped?" Herr Eberhardt's hands rolled into fists, so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Precisely," the man replied, his smile forgotten completely and his expression rancorous. "She is your wife, lived in your home, and is therefore your responsibility."

"I'll kill her," Herr Eberhardt said, breathing heavily. "I swear to the Führer, if I ever get my hands on that woman, I will kill her."

It took every ounce of my willpower not to pull Brittany by her hand and sprint out of there as fast as I could. I didn't doubt for a second that he would carry out this promise the moment he found her. And I didn't doubt for a second that I would die protecting her life if that were to happen.

"So you shall," the man agreed. "Once she's found. She's given a bad name to the entire Aryan community. She must be rid of."

"Then allow me to search for her myself," Herr Eberhardt said, a reluctant pleading note in his voice. "I will find her or die trying."

"No, Richart," the man shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't let you leave the hotel, not when you're facing charges as grave as these. I assure you that you'll be the first to know when she's found. What is your room number?"

"Eight hundred and twelve," Herr Eberhardt replied agitatedly.

"I'll deliver the news myself once we have her," the man patted him on the back, as if they were making a simple business settlement. "And she'll be in your hands. She and whoever we find with her. You'll be free to do whatever you choose with them, as long as it ends with their bodies being sent to the nearest crematorium. Until then, Richart." He shook his hand, though Herr Eberhardt didn't seem so willing, and turned to make his way through the lobby and out the grand doors of the hotel.

Brittany and Rolf, who couldn't see Herr Eberhardt since he was behind them, looked at me for confirmation. I slowly shook my head and turned my gaze back to the monster, who was still standing where the man had left him. He was wearing a black SS uniform with the red swastika band on his left arm. Around his waist was a belt, and on that belt a holster. He had a handgun.

We waited silently, frozen in fear and wide-eyed in terror. Would he recognize us if he saw us? Or would he just continue to go about his business? And if he did recognize us, what would he do? Would he pull out his handgun and shoot us right then and there, or would he drag us to his room so he could have peace while doing whatever it was he wished to do with us?

Before any of us had time to think of an escape plan, he turned toward us and paused. He was looking just past us, at the entrance to the restaurant. I found myself wishing that he wouldn't decide to go there, since that would require walking right past us, and it would take a fool not to notice us from this vicinity.

He began to walk toward us, his eyes still fixed on some point past us. I turned my desperate gaze to Brittany, who seemed to have understood that we were in imminent danger. He was only about four meters away from us now, and closing the distance quickly as he strode to his goal. Three meters… Two meters… One…

We held our breaths, and by some divine power, he walked straight past us without one glance to his left. He was breathing heavily still and so close that I could smell the alcohol on his breath. But he didn't even hesitate, didn't pay any small amount of attention, when he walked past us. Thank you, Ángel, I thought.

I couldn't see him anymore, but Rolf's eyes followed him until he entered the restaurant and disappeared from his view. He sighed in relief. "That was close. Too close."

Brittany and I nodded in agreement. "Quickly," I said, urging them toward the stairwell. "Now's our chance, he's out of the room, and we know the room number."

Brittany and Rolf didn't need any convincing. We hurried up the first flight of stairs to the first floor, where Rolf left our empty suitcases, then dashed up the rest to the eighth floor. It turned out that we didn't need the plan we'd prepared after all—whether for better or for worse.

Room 812 was close to the stairwell, and when we arrived at the door, Brittany quickly put her ear to it, trying to hear any sounds that Hans might be making. She shook her head. She couldn't hear anything.

"Will you be able to pick the lock, Rolf?" I whispered, glancing nervously around the hallway, making sure that no one was in sight.

"Yes, just give me a moment," he said, dropped to his knees, and extracted a small wire from his pocket. His stuck the wire into the keyhole and began to move it around, biting his lip in concentration.

"Be quick," Brittany urged, her ear still to the door. She found my hand, and I grasped hers tightly. Hans had to be in there. He had to.

It took Rolf a couple of minutes to pick the lock, but at last, we finally heard the click that announced our entry. Brittany's hand flew to the handle, but before she could open, Rolf stopped her and mouthed, "There might be a nurse in there." He put a finger to his lips, then let go of her hand and let her open the door.

The door opened silently, and the dark living room area of the suite was revealed before us. As far as we could see, there was nobody in there. But we could see a light shine under the door of one of the rooms. Hope filled me once again.

Rolf quietly closed the door behind us, and walked to a lamp to turn it on. Once it was lit, we had a better view of the living room area, and we found, with relief, that we were the only ones in there. If there was a nurse, she must have been in one of the rooms with Hans. If he was even here.

Just on cue, and with our hearts jumping to our throats, we heard Hans's crying from the room with the closed door. Brittany and I dashed to it, only to be pulled back by Rolf. We turned our incredulous eyes to him. Our baby was a few meters away from us. Why was he pulling us back?

"Wait," he mouthed, nodding at the door. There was no noise from inside the room except for Hans's crying. If there was a nurse in there with him, she would've already come to calm him. We waited a few more moments until Brittany couldn't wait anymore, and she yanked her arm free and closed the small distance between herself and the door.

I didn't remember running after her and into the room. All that I knew was that Hans was here, with us, in safety. Brittany lifted him from the crib and into her arms, smiling widely, her breathing staggered and happy tears streaming down her face. I embraced him from the other side, and we looked down together at our baby, our son, our life, our soul. He calmed immediately when he felt safe again, in the only place where he could truly feel safe—with his mothers. He looked up at us with large blue eyes, his hands grabbing the air above him, cooing softly as we peppered kisses along his arms and face. It seemed like everything was going to be okay at that moment; like all of our problems had vanished and we were home, or wherever it was we could call home. It was perfect. We felt invulnerable. Until we heard sounds from the suite's front door.

All three of us snapped our heads toward the front door, frozen and petrified. A key was being twisted in the keyhole. At the last second, Rolf closed the room door. We heard the front door open.

We couldn't know who had entered the suite. Could Herr Eberhardt have returned already, after only a quarter of an hour? Was it a maid who came to clean the room? Was it some Nazi official? Maybe the nurse who was caring for Hans?

I knew who it was. Just like I had known the time when he almost found me wandering outside our house in Auschwitz, just like the time he came storming down the basement stairs. Like a dream, I remembered my mother saying to me once, when I was a child, An old belief tells that everything that can go wrong will go wrong. It's a horrible fact, but it is a fact nonetheless.

Well, everything that could go wrong was going wrong now. Herr Eberhardt had found us. And just on cue, once again, feeling fear, Hans began to cry.

Heavy footsteps confirmed that it was indeed Herr Eberhardt. He was walking toward the room, and we had no way of escape. I looked around the room. There was a window, but we were on the eighth floor. We were trapped.

The door flung open. At first he seemed surprised, his eyes round with astonishment and his eyebrows raised so high that creases showed in his forehead. We stood there for a couple moments, trembling in fear while he took the time to realize what was happening. He was blocking the only way out of this room. Escape was not an option.

Finally, he seemed to have found his words. "Put down the baby," he said slowly, venom coating every word.

Both Brittany and I instinctively held Hans, who was still crying, closer to us. Rolf moved to stand in front of us.

Herr Eberhardt reached for his gun.

What happened after was so chaotic that I couldn't tell who was who, who was hurt, and who was the one shooting. Gunshots went off, I felt Hans being pulled out of my arms, and Herr Eberhardt's strong hands were locked around my neck. I fell backwards and he fell on top of me, knocking what little air I had left in me out. I clawed at his hands, I tried to kick him, but it was useless. I couldn't breathe.

And then he stopped. A gunshot rang through the room and his body fell on top of mine. Hans was screaming at the top of his lungs. A warm liquid began to soak through my clothes, and I didn't have to think much to know that it was blood.

Someone shoved his body off of me, and I sat up, coughing and gasping for air. My vision went black for a few moments, but once it returned, I looked around the room in panic, mortified that I would see Brittany's dead body on the floor.

"I'm okay," I heard a whisper by my ear and one of her arms wrapped around me. I could see the gun dangling from her other hand. She dropped it and drew me into a hug. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, my face damp from tears I didn't know I had shed. "Where's Hans?" I asked quickly.

"I have him," I heard Rolf say behind me. "He's fine."

I drew out of the hug and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, looking down at the body of the man I so hated. Blood pooled on the floor around his chest, and a great weight was lifted off of mine. He was dead. There was one less person who wanted us killed. One less person we'd have to hide from.

Brittany rose to her feet and walked to Rolf, holding out her arms for Hans and enveloping him tightly. I was still breathing heavily, but I rose to my feet as well, turning to them. I couldn't believe that we were all alive, and that he was dead. Maybe not everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

"We have to leave. Now." Rolf urged us out of the suite and to the hallway. "It won't be long till someone comes to investigate the gunshots."

Hans had somewhat quieted down, and we hurried down the hall to the stairwell, where we descended as quickly as we could without making too much noise or arousing fear in Hans again. I thanked my luck for having worn a dress that was mostly black—the blood that soaked through my clothes wasn't too obvious, and I hoped that no one would notice it.

When we arrived at the bottom of the staircase, we took a few moments to compose ourselves, straightening out our clothes and hair, making sure that everything was in place, before walking into the lobby.

We were about halfway across the lobby when a couple of soldiers ran past us. They must have been sent up to the eighth floor to search for the reason for the gunshots. In any case, they didn't question us, so we continued to walk as calmly as we could through the lobby and out the doors into the warm evening air.

We decided that walking back to the apartment would be too risky, because it wouldn't be long until they found out that Hans was gone and that Herr Eberhardt was dead, so we walked as far as we could before we hailed a taxicab. The driver wasn't interested in who we were, to our great relief. We told him an address that was a few blocks from the apartment and spent the rest of the ride in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, and Brittany and I gazing down at Hans, who once again felt safe and was cooing softly in Brittany's arms.

Brittany turned her head to me, and I looked up at her to find tears glistening in her eyes and a smile so wide it could've lit the sun spread on her lips. I felt that same happiness surge inside me. We were alive. We were alive, we had Hans, and we were free.

We paid the driver, said our thanks, and left the taxicab. We had only a few blocks to walk, and we did so with much more ease, now that we were in a completely different part of the city and much safer, out of the Nazis' firm grip. We walked quietly, our footsteps the only sounds in the street, until I raised the obvious question. "Where will we go now?" I said carefully. "We can't stay in Germany."

Brittany bit her lip, shrugging delicately, her eyes uncertain. I looked at Rolf. "You know where I've always wished to go?" he asked, a small smile creeping onto his lips. I raised my eyebrows in question.

"America," he said, grinning, and continued to walk down the street to our safety.