"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."

-Jane Austen

It was early into the next day and the haziness in my eyes was attributed to lack of rest and continuance of my Marquis prescribed gin-based pain killer. Over the previous night I obsessed over Dieter, the damn Nazi, and how much of a threat he actually was. I couldn't knowingly take in another refugee family if I had even the slightest inkling that he would pose himself a menace to me and the resistance.

I paced a circle in the living room floor, weighing every possibility. But it all boiled down to the fact that I was still completely in the dark.

"Go before I change my mind," was what he had said. What decision had he made? Had he let me go out of pity? Or something else?

I sighed and fell to the couch in a huff. Above, the ceiling which was chipped with peeling paint—mocked me. Peeling despite all my efforts to clean and dust in the past, it still insisted on deteriorating as if it knew the world in which it existed and assessed it wasn't worth it right now. I think I shared its possessive decree.

This was something I needed to control, but couldn't. I had to be certain.

Enough.

I was exhausted with these seesaw thoughts in my mind. My feet spoke before my mind had a chance to form a thought.

The early morning was cold in Paris as the sun had yet to rise, my coat was wool but still felt the wind bite through it. My boots hardly made a sound on the cobblestones as I cut through back streets and alleys.

As a member of the resistance I knew where every Gestapo base was located in the city; there were three of them, so narrowing down which one I'd find him in would be the hardest part.

The first was a bust, practically empty. The second was in the center of the city off the Champs-Élysées. Getting in was fairly easy, it was almost too easy to find an opening and sneak around unnoticed by the lax security.

And on the second floor of the old art deco building—which was succumbing to German designed concreted ruin—I found it. An office door with a frosted glass panel that bore the name etched in black and gold: "Sturmbannführer Dieter Hellstrom."

My heart leapt in my throat which sent a tremor to my hands. I even started to sweat in places I hadn't sweat in months. There was only a random officer and secretary wondering the halls. Sounds of the tap, tap, tap, tapping of typewriters behind the doors of offices echoed down the hall.

Confident despite everything, I knocked.

"Come in." I heard him say from behind the door. It was open slightly ajar so I pushed it with the tips of my fingers and it swung open just wide enough to side step in.

Dieter's office was small, but about as big as my bedroom. Dieter sat at his desk, in full uniform, and looked as though he was filling out paperwork. I imagined that was the majority of his job.

Dieter hadn't looked up yet.

"Have you brought those forms I asked for, Acker?" Dieter asked, his head still down, writing.

My breath was shallow and for a moment I imagined skipping back out and forgetting this dangerous and ridiculous plan. But instead, I spoke up.

"I'm not Acker." I said in English, my voice again sounded stronger than I felt.

Dieter's hand paused writing immediately and his head shot up. His face was empty for a moment, before taking me in completely. He didn't seem to have a reaction my belated facial injuries. Then his gaze shifted to mild confusion.

"How did you get in here?" Dieter asked, still sitting.

"I'm going to close the door, so no one else sees me." I stated, slowly closing the door, making certain not to turn my back to him. Dieter stood up slowly and walked around his desk, making certain to push his chair in and never take his eyes off me for a second.

"How did you get in here?" He asked again.

"You are asking that like this place is impenetrable."

"It is."

"It's really not." I said, testing waters of my own comfort.

"Why are you here?" Dieter pressed, taking a step closer to me.

"I came because…" I looked away from his crystal green eyes, "Because I need to know why."

"Why what, Miss Antony?" Dieter stepped forward again and I tried not to react by stepping away lest I show him how scared I actually was. My name on his voice again sent chills.

"I need to know why you let me go." I said softly. My voice was hardly above a whisper. Those words built a sudden tension, the meter and a half between us now felt like an inch. Dieter looked into my eyes and I felt strangely seen, like he knew my every thought in my mind and didn't judge me for it.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I let you go because you were cleared of suspicion, it is as simple as that." He said, leaning against his desk. I looked him up and down, his lanky figure obscured by the boxy uniform, no matter how tailored it was to his body—it still looked ill-fitting and uncomfortable.

"Is it?" I questioned, "Cleared of suspicion by you alone—the other officers seemed quite certain I was a spy."

"And I was quite certain you were not. So I let you go."

"But first you made sure no one saw me leave." I said and Dieter cleared his throat, without saying a word. We watched each other for several moments before I spoke up again, "I'm not accusing you of anything, nor to I wish to further incriminate myself…but I just—I have to know."

Dieter looked at me with a changed and resigned look in his eyes, the pure contact between us bore unspoken words that I couldn't translate and thusly frustrated me even more.

"Like I said—after I interrogated you I felt you didn't pose a threat to our occupation, so I let you go."

"But why?"

"Why?" Dieter leaned up from his desk and took a forceful step forward. "Look at you, little blonde hardly reaching the height of my shoulder that weighs less than a stack of books—am I supposed to be intimidated by…you?" He gestured at me.

"You're lying." I said, unfazed by his offensive description.

"Just because I'm giving you the answer you did not come here for, Miss Antony, does not make it any less true."

"I would be satisfied with it, given it was the truth." I said, and took a purposeful step forward. Dieter seemed unbothered by my accusations, if not for that tiny little twitch at the corner of his right eye. I just had to push the right buttons. "You took one look at me and decided, didn't you?"

Dieter was silent for a moment, "Have you come here to interrogate me? Because you are not doing a very good job."

"Tell me why you let me go, Dieter." I said, using his name for the first time. This seemed to stir something in him that made his guise of comfort completely disappear. His back straightened and his jaw set sharp and square with the flurry of emotions I saw flash through his face. And his eyes, the pupils suddenly dilated—encapsulating the deep green of his irises. "Please, I cannot think of anything else."

I spoke softly, poking at a hunch I felt back in the interrogation room. I could see it in his eyes then when the feeling first hit him and could see it now as it hit him again when I said his name. I knew it because it gutted me in the exact same way with the tiny utterance of my name on his lips—watching how his body language opened up to me with each passing second of eye contact.

"Alma I…" Dieter paused, his chest rising and falling like the whip of an ocean tide.

"Just tell me and I'll leave. That's all I want." I tried to make my words sound more definitive than I felt.

Dieter opened his mouth but a stir outside the door gave him pause. Suddenly a loud, deep boom shook the floor and I tried to steady myself. We looked at each other.

"Get down." Dieter, in action quicker than I could think, grabbed me by the arm and waist. We fell to the ground as the aftershock of the bomb shattered the windows, dust filled the air, and a bookcase fell over and the books scattered on the floor at their feet. Had Dieter not pulled me away, I would have been under it.

I gasped into his chest where he held my head, his other arm tight around my back. My ears were ringing and I could focus on anything.

After a few moments of silence Dieter pulled his head back.

"Are you okay?" He asked and I blinked.

"You…" He had…protected me. Why had he done that? We were still on the floor, his arms still tightly around me, not a tremor of fear in him but a focus grip which I felt imprinted into my bones.

"Alma, are you okay?" Dieter persisted, breathing like he'd just gone for a run.

"Yes, I'm fine. But…" I raised my hand to his forehead, "you're bleeding." I reached into my jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. Softly I dabbed at the wound, which was small but bled considerably down half of his face. Dieter's face twitched but he let me.

It wasn't until I heard voices outside the door that I realized what I was doing. Instinctively I pulled away from him, but still stayed there—in his arms now hardly an inch separated our bodies.

I helped Dieter stand, who stumbled on his feet trying to stand on his own. I held him up by the the lapels of his uniform, ushering him to the edge of his desk.

"You have to go." He said, his hands falling over mine, pushing them down. He listened for the voices outside. "Quickly or they will think you had something to do with this—Alma—"

"No, I had nothing to do with this." I breathed out and backed toward to the door. He had to know that.

I tried to open the door but it didn't budge. The frame was broken. Dieter stood and pulled the door open with me. He peeked out and saw the hall empty.

"Will—will you be okay?" I asked.

"I will be fine but you have to go." Dieter said, pushing me out. But I turned back around. He looked panicked but not for himself or the bomb even. He looked around again then back at me. "Go now, I'm certain the back way is the route which you came in, yes?"

I nodded, "Yes."

"Go that way. Now." He pushed me again and with one last look at him I sprinted down the hall. I didn't even turn back to see if he was watching me.

I snuck out of the back door and ran passed two guards when their backs were turned. I truly hoped only Nazi's were injured in the bomb, and not any Parisian civilians but damn if it didn't make my escape easy.

About a mile out of the bomb radius I stopped to breathe. In my hand, I still clutched the bloody handkerchief. The blood was drying and grew stiff to the touch. I squeezed it into my palm and felt cold tears sting my cheeks.

I walked to the bookshop which was just a few blocks away. When I walked in Marquis gasped.

"Alma, are you okay?" He spoke rapidly in French, running around the counter to me.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're covered in dust. You weren't near that bomb, were you?" Marquis asked, brushing the dust from my shoulders. "You were, weren't you? Why were you there?"

I sighed again and fell to the couch behind the counter, a cloud of dust puffed around me. I imagined I looked quite comical.

"I wish Jean had told us which buildings he was planning on hitting." I looked up at Marquis. "I think I should be lucky I'm alive."

"Why were you in that building?"

My head fell to my hands, "It doesn't matter now."

I was more confused now than I was before, but now for different reasons all together. But I did know for certain—Dieter would not be a threat to the resistance anymore. I think I knew why he let me go.