As much as Dietrich wanted to leave Anselm alone, he was aware that his nephew had medicine and supplements that he needed to take at specific times, with specific requirements on how and what to take them with. After a quick lunch with Markus and Moffitt, they left Anselm alone until it was time to give him his first doses of medication. While Markus was showing Moffitt around his library, Dietrich took charge of Anselm's medicine. He brought out a handful of pills and a glass of water, setting them on the coffee table in front of Anselm. "There are a few pills in the kitchen that need to be taken with food," Dietrich said. "Is there anything specific you would like?"

Anselm eyed the pills with some suspicion, but eventually took them and swallowed them with the water. He set the glass back on the table, and kept looking down at the floor. "Not sure."

"I do also suggest you drink that entire glass, alright? At your own pace. Try not to overexert yourself."

Anselm nodded. "What was the Englishman talking about yesterday? Cake?"

"Yes."

"I probably can't have that, can I?"

Dietrich snorted. "Personally, I am not one to care if you want cake for breakfast. Yes, you need nutrients—a lot of nutrients—but just this once is not going to hurt." He went back into the kitchen and began searching the refrigerator for cake. Sure enough, he found a pan of leftover cake in the back of the fridge. He froze when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

"Dietrich, didn't we just have lunch?" Moffitt said.

"Before you make nonsensical assumptions about me having a 'sweet tooth,' this is for Anselm." Dietrich set the pan on the counter. The cake looked very much like plain chocolate with vanilla frosting, but he decided to sample it anyway, just to be certain. It looked plain, but it was delicious nonetheless. He waited until Moffitt was distracted by tea in order to cut a slice for himself and hide it. He then quickly cut a piece for Anselm and put the pan back in the fridge before Moffitt was looking again. "Some of Anselm's medication require that he take them with food, so I offered to get this for him," Dietrich said.

"Ah." Moffitt stood by the counter, watching the kettle after filling it with water. He was in a perfect position to see Dietrich if he retrieved the other slice from the fridge.

Dietrich got Anselm's pills organized, then began thinking of a way to sneak his own cake out of the fridge. He glanced at the intently focused Moffitt. What could possibly get him to step away from his tea? "Moffitt, look—horses."

"Where?" Moffitt asked, his eyes brightening.

"Out the front window."

The lanky Englishman jogged over to the window. Dietrich opened the fridge, grabbed his cake, and quickly went into the living room.

"Where? I don't see any horses," Moffitt said.

"I swear I saw some out there," Dietrich replied, feigning innocence. He dropped his grin before stepping in front of Anselm, holding out one of dishes and a cup containing the rest of his pills.

Anselm looked up at Dietrich after taking the plate and cup. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." Dietrich sat down, hoping to be able to spend the next few minutes savoring his cake. He just hoped Moffitt didn't join them.

"I'm guessing you never really got any sort of treat for your birthday?" Anselm said.

Dietrich gave him a confused look. "What brings this up?"

"You were shouting earlier about how badly you were treated growing up, and how… Mother probably treated me the same way."

"Yes. How does this connect to birthdays?"

"I know it might be hard to believe, but my mother did try to get me something each year. It was never much, usually a piece of candy or a small cake or something like that. As long as she could afford it."

Dietrich watched Anselm for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Eventually, he said, "No, I never even got that. I… probably should not have made assumptions as to your background, but I do hope you understand that you did put up with abuse, which is unacceptable."

"I feel like she tried to be… a better person, sometimes. It was hard to tell." Anselm finished his cake, then took the rest of his pills. "I imagine most people don't get thrown outside to figure out for themselves how to survive in the wilderness."

"No. I will agree, you did get something out of that, but I still would not excuse it."

"I guess the only reason I'm not angry over that is because it did help, in a way. It was easy to not look back. I wasn't leaving behind any friends or family. I didn't have anyone with me to slow me down."

"Was your mother originally going to be escaping as well?"

"Honestly, I don't know. She never went out into the wilderness. At least, not that I saw."

"I am sorry for your loss, but I can guarantee that we would not be having this conversation if she were with you."

"No, we… we wouldn't. Father was the one who told her that you were a waste of space and unfit to serve Germany, and… Mother told me that, too. I remember it clearly. 'If you ever meet someone claiming to be your uncle, named Hans, don't associate with him. He only became an officer as a charade. He does not have the strength, physically or mentally, to truly serve. He was in North Africa, and the loss after loss of convoys speaks for itself.'"

Dietrich sighed. "You know, I almost wish Konrad survived the war so I could punch him in the nose."

"Is it true you lost a lot of convoys, though?"

"Yes, but what Konrad so conveniently neglected to tell your mother is that for quite a while, I was looked at as one of the most dangerous commanders for the LRDG to go up against. Did I lose engagements with them? Yes. Oh, yes, many times, but far more often, I had no trouble pushing them back. I learned by watching them, listening to other German commanders talking about them, and by utilizing several of the patrols' biggest flaw—predictable patterns. Some did try to change things up, but in many cases, I was able to successfully guard against these deviations by going over them ahead of time in plans with my officers. And then—shortly after Operation Torch, November, 1942, I was met in combat by an American sergeant who spent a few months training with the best of the Australian units. I assumed that I would be able to learn his patterns like I did everyone else." Dietrich paused to laugh a little. "Oh, how wrong I was. That was when things started going downhill for me."

"Because of one sergeant?"

"Not entirely. It was a combination of factors that led to things going south, but it was mostly supply issues and dwindling manpower. To this day, I have no idea how my mother found out about my losses in North Africa, since I never wrote to her and the papers never mentioned them, but that was one of the worst days of my life. Being accused of losing on purpose hurt. I wrote countless letters telling families that their loved one was not coming home, and I hated doing so, because I felt responsible for their loss. For a long time, I really did think it was my fault that all of those men died. Strangely enough, it was that American sergeant, along with Moffitt, who helped me get back on my feet after the war."

"If you didn't agree with where Germany was going, why did you become an officer?"

"Well, it was not a complete lie that it was 'a charade.' I did join in order to protect myself. Granted, if I had not joined, I probably would have been drafted at some point, and if not that… a worse fate awaited me. Then again, there is another story that goes along with this, one that relates to what I told you a few days ago, about how I prevented East and West Germany from going to war."

Anselm looked like he was listening quite eagerly, but that attentiveness suddenly vanished along with what little color was in his face when the telephone began ringing. His breathing quickened. "Nobody's home! Nobody's home!"

The ringing stopped when Moffitt picked up. Dietrich had a hand on Anselm's arm, trying to calm him. A concerned-looking Moffitt peered into the living room. "Dietrich? It's for you."

"Who is it?" Dietrich asked.

"Esther. What's going on?"

"You remember what he told us earlier? The strange phone calls?"

Dietrich didn't get up until Moffitt was with Anselm, and went into the kitchen to answer the telephone. "Hello, Esther. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything is alright," Esther replied. "I was wondering if you had an idea of when you were coming home."

"Right now, I am unsure. We have gotten Anselm to talk, and he has been far more cooperative than I was expecting. Even though he is out of the hospital, I feel I should stay a little longer to help him adjust."

"Alright. I would prefer if you had a timeframe."

"Well, there is the option of bringing Anselm to our own home."

"Is that wise? You were telling me a few nights ago that he was acting similarly to your oldest brother."

"That has changed."

Esther was quiet for a moment. "I don't know. If we didn't have Gunther—"

"I think Anselm can be trusted with Gunther."

"We will see."

"Esther, showing Anselm trust will help him a lot more than ostracizing him."

"That is if he proves he can be trusted. I want to know if this behavior change is permanent."

Dietrich peered into the living room, seeing Moffitt had gotten Anselm to relax. "I will let you know how things go. For now… I love you, Esther."

"I love you, too, Hans. Good luck."

After Esther hung up, Dietrich went back into the living room. Moffitt gave him a look of shame. "I should've reacted faster when the phone rang. I should've—"

"Could you please… not?" Dietrich said. "It is an easy thing to forget."

"Right." Moffitt glanced at Anselm, who was staring at the floor again.

"Anselm?" Dietrich said quietly. "Are you alright?"

The young man drew his knees up, looking similar to how he would normally sit while at the hospital. He made no sound for a few moments, then sniffed and drew in a ragged breath. "For a moment… I thought… I was back home."

"You are no longer there, and you will never go back there. I will make that a promise if I have to." Dietrich returned to his chair. "Around here, we do not get strange phone calls at all hours. That was just my wife."

"Okay." Anselm nodded.

"It is something you will have to get used to, alright?"

"Okay."

"Would you like to be left alone for a little while?"

Anselm nodded again. Both Moffitt and Dietrich stood, and headed into the kitchen, where Moffitt picked up his cup of now lukewarm tea before whispering, "I think it's safe to assume his father wouldn't have approved of that."

Dietrich shook his head. "Konrad would extremely disappointed that his son is 'a coward afraid of a ringing telephone.'"

"I remember being jumpy after returning home when the war ended—granted, not of telephones, but… you understand. It's a horrid feeling."

"It will take some time for Anselm to truly relax. He needed to be monitored in a hospital for a bit, so it would not surprise me if he did not get any sleep."

Moffitt glanced in the living room. "Let's hope he'll get some sleep."

It was quiet in the house that night apart from a voice on the radio. Dietrich was half-asleep, having not been interested in whatever was being broadcast in the first place. Moffitt was already sleeping, and took up the whole length of the couch, so Markus and Liesel were making the best of sitting in a recliner together. Not that they minded. Dietrich still found it hard to believe that Markus had been raised to be a thug, and yet here he was, being so gentle and loving with his wife. Eventually, Liesel was starting to look tired and got comfortable next to Markus, who whispered something in her ear before kissing the side of her head and hugging her close.

A few minutes passed before Markus whispered again to Liesel and stood up to turn the radio off. "Alright. I think it is time for bed," he said aloud.

"Agreed." Dietrich got comfortable in his chair. "See you in the morning, Markus."

The lamps were turned off, and Markus and Liesel headed upstairs, leaving Dietrich the only one still awake in the dark. He could hear Moffitt's quiet snoring, along with crickets chirping outside. Time passed, and Dietrich swore he heard the call of an owl. He also swore he had been tired a while ago.

Dietrich sat up when he heard the soft creaking of someone coming down the stairs, and turned to see Anselm, still dressed in his day clothes, in the middle of the stairway. Anselm flinched. "I'm sorry. I-I'm just getting water."

"Then get your water," Dietrich said. "No need to apologize."

Anselm remained still for a moment, then crept into the kitchen. Dietrich stood, trying to stay quiet and not wake up Moffitt, who was not nearly as deep a sleeper as Troy. He went into the kitchen as well. "Are you feeling alright?" Dietrich asked.

"Can't sleep," Anselm muttered.

"Any particular reason why?"

"What do you think?" Anselm shrugged. "Take your pick, really."

"A little bit of everything, I take it? Physical and mental?"

Anselm nodded.

"Are you in pain?"

Another nod. "Uncomfortable, mostly."

"That will be the case for a little while. Eventually, you will adjust to having normal meals, adequate rest, and simply being in an environment where you do not have to be afraid anymore." Dietrich paused when a thought came to mind. He pondered if it was his own bitterness that made him not want to ask this question, but he tried to be sensitive to Anselm's situation. "Do you… miss your mother?"

"A little."

Dietrich's thoughts were less than sensitive. Why would you miss her at all? She hurt you. She threw you outside in horrible conditions. She fed you lies about your father and the Nazis. She was a horrible person. You are better off without her. The whole world is. He looked down at the counter, uncertain of what to say next. He couldn't fault Anselm for caring, even a little. After all, when no one else had been taking care of him, it made sense that he would become attached to the only person who did. Despite Anselm only saying "A little," and not really expressing much else in terms of grief, Dietrich still felt baffled. He hadn't grieved his own mother when learning of her passing the previous year. He didn't celebrate, though. That wouldn't have been right.

Anselm filled a glass with water. "You and Uncle Markus have been a lot nicer. You are right—I don't think we would be talking like this if Mother had been able to come with me."

"Getting you help probably would have been difficult because of her."

"That… I'm not sure. We both would have needed it."

Dietrich kept looking at the counter, resisting the urge to say that it was best not to dwell on the what-ifs. He turned back to Anselm, hoping his changing of the subject came across naturally. "Is there anything I can do to help you get to sleep?"

Anselm shrugged.

"Are you hungry? You did not eat much for dinner, I noticed."

"I know. I just… couldn't finish."

"Too much?"

Anselm nodded.

"There is no shame in saying so. Give it time. You will adjust."

"You didn't think I was being ungrateful?"

"No, absolutely not, and neither did Markus or Liesel. Trust me, I… understand."

Anselm gave him a curious expression. "You do?"

"Yes. I was not in a situation like yours, though. I spent three years after the war's end punishing myself through starvation. I told you earlier that I blamed myself for the deaths of my men. Long story short, that… spiraled out of control." Dietrich was tempted to point out that Anselm's mother probably would have hoped he had succeeded, but he kept quiet, returning his gaze to the counter.

Anselm didn't seem to have anything to add, but there was a look in his eyes that made Dietrich wonder what exactly he was thinking. For a few moments, Anselm was standing in front of one of the cabinets, staring at its contents and looking a bit dazed. He seemed to no longer be thinking about the conversation he was just having, and now just looked famished. It was comfortable in the house, temperature-wise, but Anselm was still occasionally rubbing his arms in an effort to get himself warm.

Dietrich didn't want to wake anyone by cooking, but knew Anselm wasn't going to sleep until he felt somewhat better. He started simple by making a small serving of chicken broth—with a lot more flavor than what the hospital had been giving him. He knew whatever pain Anselm was in all too well. While the broth was cooking, Dietrich looked in the living room, seeing Moffitt was still sleeping and hadn't moved much apart from turning to face the back of the couch. He turned back to the stove, giving the broth a stir and a taste. He then poured it into a bowl and placed it in front of Anselm, who was now sitting at the counter with a blanket around his shoulders. Dietrich watched him for a moment before getting a loaf of bread out and cutting a few slices before setting them near Anselm. "Here."

"Thanks," Anselm said quietly.

Dietrich nodded. "Let me know if you would like anything else." He looked over his shoulder at the small pot he used to make the broth, and decided he would worry about it in the morning. He finally began feeling tired, but he decided to stay awake until Anselm felt he could sleep. There was no conversation between them until Anselm finished, and Dietrich waited until his nephew set the bowl down before asking, "Better?"

"A little. Yes," Anselm replied.

"Well, that should hold you until the morning. Save your appetite for breakfast. Eggs, sausage, toasted bread, and—" Dietrich grinned. "I will introduce you to coffee. Have you had coffee at all?"

"Not yet. It smells really good."

"It tastes even better." Dietrich glanced at the stairway. "Think you can sleep now?"

"I can try," Anselm said.

"You can come wake me if you need anything."

"Okay." Anselm stood, and looked Dietrich in the eye for a moment before turning to head up the stairs. He still seemed lost, but at least he was opening up more and more.

Dietrich set the dishes aside before going into the living room. He pulled a blanket over himself while sitting in the chair, then adjusted the chair to lay more comfortably. He gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, taking in the silence, and finally drifted off to sleep.

Dietrich awoke to hear Liesel helping Ludwin and Sophie get ready for school, then felt a hand on his shoulder. Moffitt shook him a little, saying, "Dietrich, please get up. Your brother has no clue how to make eggs."

Are you kidding me? Dietrich sighed. "That is why you are waking me up?"

"Yes. This is ridiculous."

"I can make eggs!" Markus shouted from the kitchen.

"No, you can't!" Moffitt said.

"For heaven's sake." Dietrich sat up and got out of the chair. "Is there coffee ready?"

"There is."

"Good." Dietrich tiredly shuffled out into the kitchen. "Markus, what are you doing that is bothering Moffitt so much?"

"Nothing! I am perfectly capable of making eggs," Markus said.

"You call this a good egg? You broke all the yolks!" Moffitt snapped.

"Well, maybe I would be able to focus without you slithering around behind me getting your tea ready! The last thing I want to do is bump into you by accident and get ranted at—"

"I wouldn't rant at you."

"You are ranting at me right now!"

Dietrich exchanged a look with Liesel before heaving another sigh. "I am shocked that you and Troy argued less in the kitchen, Markus."

"Also, you really do have the worst luck with eggs," Liesel added. "It gets worse when you're nervous."

Markus looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't. "Fine, fine. You all can make your own eggs."

Dietrich didn't like having to deal with this before having his coffee. After pouring his cup and taking a few sips to feel somewhat normal, he headed upstairs to get Anselm. He knocked on the door, and when he didn't get a response, he opened the door, quietly. Anselm looked to be still sleeping, which left Dietrich with a dilemma. He does need to sleep, and the last thing I want to do is startle him. On the other hand, he needs to get used to having regular meals. Do I wake him or not?

As Dietrich stood thinking in the doorway, Anselm stirred a little, and gave a pained sound. "Someone there?" he groaned.

"Yes," Dietrich said. "Are you alright?"

"Very… bad headache."

"I will be right back, then." Dietrich went back downstairs to the kitchen, quickly getting a glass from one of the cabinets to fill it with water.

Markus was stirring sliced potatoes and sauerkraut in a pan. He glanced at his younger brother. "Hans, is everything alright?"

"Anselm has a headache. I am getting aspirin," Dietrich replied. He went back upstairs, pausing in the bathroom to get a pair of aspirin tablets from the medicine cabinet, and returned to the guest room. "I brought something that should help." He set the water and tablets on the bedside table before helping Anselm sit up. After Anselm took the pills, Dietrich soaked a washrag in warm water, and wrung it out as best he could before placing it on the young man's forehead. He made sure Anselm was comfortable, then turned to leave the room, finding Moffitt in the hallway.

"You know, with this combined with how often you've helped the rest of us when we're sick, I'm surprised you didn't go into medicine," Moffitt said.

"I happen to have good bedside manner," Dietrich replied. "Most of the time. Frankly, I do not have the patience to go into medicine. When I retire from the Bundeswehr, that will be it. My plan is to do nothing and enjoy the fact that I will be able to travel more often."

"Fair enough." Moffitt looked in the guestroom for a moment, an expression of sympathy crossing his face. "What's our plan for the day? I know we discussed not focusing exclusively on Anselm's problems, but it wouldn't be wise to ignore them."

"No, and I would never suggest we do."

The two went back downstairs, having breakfast before going into the living room with Markus to talk. They sat in silence for a little while, each man trying to put his thoughts together, but Dietrich had a feeling that any ideas they came up with would have some benefits and some downsides. He was prepared to go along with whatever was suggested.

"I do think bringing Anselm outside and around the city to get him accustomed to life in a freer country is necessary," Moffitt said. "However… there is the matter of his appearance."

"I doubt we have much to worry about in terms of anyone thinking he is actively being neglected," Dietrich replied. "We just tell the truth and say that he recently fled from East Germany. My main concern is overwhelming him, and whether or not bringing him outside is simply too soon."

"Munich is big," Markus said. "I think it is too soon to be bringing him around there."

"True, but we could bring him up to Hammelburg," Moffitt suggested. "It's much smaller, and very quiet."

"You know, I was telling Esther yesterday that I would not mind having Anselm stay with us," Dietrich said. "She is… not exactly thrilled with the idea, given how he was raised. She is concerned about how he will behave around Gunther. I told her that the last thing we need to do is ostracize Anselm, especially when he has shown a willingness to change."

Moffitt looked deep in thought for a moment. "I would be lying if I said I haven't thought of… whether or not Anselm is tricking us. It's not good, I know, but it's a thought that creeps in occasionally." He turned to Dietrich. "You're not someone who's easily fooled. What if this all turns out to be a lie?"

"I will admit that Anselm lying and manipulating us has crossed my mind," Dietrich said. "I am still willing to trust him until proven otherwise. Last night seemed to suggest he is genuine."

"What happened last night?"

"He could not sleep. He mentioned pain but would not specify. I suspect it was due to his own hunger, since he went to bed after I gave him some broth with bread. We did talk for a bit, and… frankly, that revealed more about me than him."

"How so?"

"I asked if he missed his mother. He said, 'A little.' I wanted to question that, and tell him that it is insane to miss her given how much she hurt him. I said nothing, because I worried delving into such a topic was going to make things worse."

Moffitt and Markus said nothing for a while. Eventually, Markus broke the silence. "I can understand your confusion, Hans. I had told you last year that when our mother passed, I… I felt nothing. Organizing the funeral, I could not find anything to really celebrate about her life. That made it a much more depressing affair. I wish things had changed, but they never did. I felt sorry for her, but I don't truly miss her."

"Unfortunately for Anselm, his mother was the only person taking care of him. All it really sounds like is that she tried, but still did a great deal of damage."

Moffitt switched his gaze between the brothers. "Keep in mind that you two can't go off on Anselm like you did yesterday if the topic comes up again."

"What we don't want is Anselm having a twisted view of how he was raised," Markus said.

"Is it really twisted, or is it more complicated than you would like to think? I'm not going to deny that how she treated him was horrible, but it doesn't sound like it was as big a disaster as your childhoods. Shaming him for saying anything positive about his mother is not going to help. It's no different than how he was taught to look at Dietrich, or my people, or anyone else his mother didn't like."

"His experience was different and we have to accept that," Dietrich said. "It is hard, and I do think it would benefit all of us by being honest with him about it. I am not saying we get angry with him, like yesterday, but just say that it is hard for us to truly understand because of our own experiences and what we already know he went through. That is not a fault with Anselm, but with us."

"In that case, perhaps you are best to tell him that," Markus said. "You are already bonding with him quite well."

Dietrich sighed. "Alright. When the topic comes up. No sooner. In the meantime, something we should do is get Anselm new clothing."

"Oh, this is going to be like me and my jacket again," Markus muttered.

"I am being serious. He has been wearing the same set of clothes for how long now?"

"I understand that, but you were also insistent on that with me last year. I do still have that jacket, by the way."

"Markus—"

"Dietrich?" Moffitt interrupted. "Once again, you are starting to sound like Troy. You are just as much of a mother hen, and you are going to deny that, just like Troy does."

"That is a lie! Troy is fussy. I am practical."

"Hmm. Right." Moffitt grinned.

Dietrich sighed before getting up to have a second cup of coffee. Almost as soon as he entered the kitchen, Anselm was coming down the stairs, holding the washrag. "Are you feeling better?" Dietrich asked.

"Yes, somewhat," Anselm replied.

"Better than nothing. Have a seat. I will get your breakfast and pills ready."

"Thanks." Anselm sat at the counter, and was still for all of a minute before shivering.

"You really do need new clothes," Dietrich said. "We have been quite foolish the last few days, not thinking of that."

"It's alright, Uncle Hans. Really."

Dietrich focused on cooking breakfast, but he noticed Moffitt and Markus peering into the kitchen in the corner of his eye. "What?" he grumbled.

"'Not a mother hen,' my foot!" Moffitt said. "You do realize Troy will hear of this, right? And the cake thing from a few days ago."

"This really is going to be like my jacket," Markus added.

"Markus, you wore that jacket for seventeen years," Dietrich said. "It was far past time for a new one. Both of you are being ridiculous."

Markus and Moffitt exchanged a smirk before going back into the living room.

Dietrich ignored them, resuming his focus on his cooking. When he set a plate of food in front of Anselm, he noticed Anselm looking at the doorway into the living room. "What is it?" Dietrich asked.

Anselm was quiet for a moment, hesitant to take the plate. He switched his gaze to Dietrich, and lowered his voice. "Do you all… not trust me?"

"Do you want me to be honest?"

"That would be preferable."

"Fine. We do not trust you a hundred percent."

Anselm's expression turned to one of hurt. "I trusted you. I wanted to. I thought I could, because you are nothing like how Mother described you. I was willing to give you a chance, and you acted like you were going to do the same for me."

"I am doing the same for you. We did not exactly get off on the right foot."

"No. You think I'm lying."

"I do not think you are lying."

"Then why don't you trust me?"

Dietrich froze, unable to come up with a good answer.

Anselm stood. "It's because you think I'm just like my parents." He stormed back upstairs, slamming shut the guestroom door.

Dietrich remained where he was, and gave a sigh when he saw Moffitt and Markus appear in the living room doorway again. "Well, I think we fouled this up."

"Does he not remember how he acted when he met you a few days ago?" Markus asked.

"Is that important anymore?"

"Let's not let this devolve into arguing," Moffitt said. "None of us considered the fact that Anselm might've been listening. We all made a mistake with that."

Markus gave a sigh of his own. "Seems all we have been doing is making mistakes with him."

"No, we have been making progress," Dietrich said.

"We were making progress, and now we have gone and destroyed it."

"We can fix this, Markus. Please, the last thing Anselm needs is us giving up."

Markus didn't look sure what to say. He folded his arms over his chest. "Alright. You trust him, Hans. Tell me why I should."

"I am not going to tell you to do anything. You can keep not trusting Anselm if you wish. I have chosen to take this risk of being made a fool, because if I turn out to be right, I can and will help Anselm succeed in life. I can and will help him become something better than what his parents wanted him to be. I took that same risk with you."

"I know. You mentioned that yesterday."

Dietrich looked at Moffitt. "Are you still in this?"

"Should I?" Moffitt asked. "I think you should call Tully to help you fix this. I botched it up."

"No, we all botched it up, but we are going to fix it."

Moffitt was quiet for a few heartbeats before nodding a little. "Alright. I'll… try."

"You do outrank us, Hans, so it only makes sense for you to be in charge," Markus said.

"That has nothing to do with this," Dietrich muttered. "You two are not even in the military anymore."

"Perhaps, but if there's one thing Anselm needs, it's a good leader," Moffitt explained. "You fit that description."

Years ago, Dietrich would have argued that he couldn't lead anyone, not after the disasters that panned out in North Africa. He couldn't exactly argue that anymore, now that he had fulfilled his prophecy and prevented a much worse disaster from befalling his homeland again. So, he accepted what Moffitt said, stood with his back straight, and headed upstairs to talk to Anselm.