"How dangerous are we talking?" I asked quietly.
His expression changed, something like sympathy, something like a warning. "We're one mistake away from losing the city," he said. "And maybe the whole damn world."
For a moment, the only sound was the growl of engines overhead. I thought of Inga. Of Klaus. The ruined building they slept in. The Russians, stalking the streets like wolves in a broken forest. The bullets that had torn through my plane.
I clenched my jaw. "So what do you want from me?"
"Nothing," the agent said. Then added, "Yet."
He stepped back, smoothing his suit jacket.
"Just keep your eyes open, Captain. Report nothing. Notice everything. And for God's sake…"
His voice dropped. "…watch yourself."
He turned and walked away, swallowed by the hangar shadows. I watched him go, and the knot in my chest tightened. Berlin wasn't just wounded. It was rigged with explosives. And the fuse was burning fast.
I'd like to say that it was the conversation with the stranger that drove me back to Die Ecke, not the urge to see that she was okay. But I'd be lying. It was a need. Deep and primal. I didn't go inside. I wasn't in the mood to watch people pretend the world wasn't on the brink of another war, that this city wasn't seconds from being run over by the Reds, who wanted nothing more than to rape and plunder it. If only to say,We won.Berlin is ours.
I didn't go into the bar; instead, I stood across the street and waited until the door finally creaked open and she stepped out. She looked tired. Not worn down exactly, just weighed down. Like gravity wanted more from her than from anyone else.
I stepped forward.
She gasped and pressed a hand to her heart. "You startled me."
"Sorry," I said, even though I wasn't. I'd been waiting for that moment.
She narrowed her eyes. "Is this how you get your kicks? Waiting out here for me?"
A smile tugged at my mouth, completely uninvited. "Maybe."
Flirting?
Was that what this was?
I'd never done it. I'd joined up at seventeen, enlisting in what was still technically theArmy Air Forcesback then,because the Air Force wasn't officially born until '47. Before that, the extent of my romantic experience had been awkward hand-holding behind a barn and a kiss so quick it barely counted. Then I was in England. France. Italy. And war does things to people. Makes them reckless. Makes them hungry. Makes certain kinds of arrangements feel simple, transactional, necessary. Girls had liked me, some because I had rations, some because I had wings, some because I was gone the next day. But that wasn't flirting. That was survival dressed up like intimacy.
I'd never,ever,used a woman. Never taken something that wasn't freely, soberly given. There were lines I didn't cross, even when the world was on fire and everyone else seemed to be stepping over their own shadows.
But this?
This felt like something entirely different.
She crossed her arms, uncertain but… not leaving. "So what is this?" she asked quietly. "Is this… our thing now?"
Something inside me tightened, pleasure, fear, longing, I didn't know. "If you like."
Her lips parted. A shift happened, small but real. Like she gave herself a nudge from the inside.
"I think…" She exhaled. "I think I'd like that."
We started walking. Side by side. Awkward as hell. Everytime our sleeves brushed, my heart thumped like a rookie's first jump.
"So," she said after a few strides, "where are you from?"
"Montana." Saying out loud the name of my home state felt good. "A little nowhere town with more cows than people."
"Montana," she repeated softly, like she was tasting the word. "That sounds… far."
