"The hell you will," I cut in.
Her eyes widened.
"Show me," I demanded.
Because I didn't care if they were six or sixteen, no one hurt this little boy.
No one terrified Inga. Not while I was anywhere in this godforsaken city.
And the dragon inside me?
He lifted his head, hungry for justice.
"Take me to them," my voice surprised me with its roughness. "I'm not letting this happen again."
She didn't answer right away; her mouth opened, then closed again, like she couldn't decide whether to tell me to go to hell or to thank me. But before she could find the words, Klaus looked up at me with wide, shining eyes. There was no fear in them; it was like he was staring at Superman.
The same look my little sister gave me when I walked through the door in uniform the first time. Molly. God, I hadn't let myself think her name in weeks.
"Hier lang," Klaus said suddenly, gesturing into the maze of rubble—this way.
"Klaus," Inga warned sharply. "Nein."
But the kid shook his head. "Komm."
He didn't speak English, but I didn't need a translator. The meaning was clear enough. He meantfollow me.
Inga sighed, defeated. "He wants to show you," she murmured. "Our—what's left of our home. And… what the boys did."
We began to climb through the rubble, Klaus scrambling like it was familiar terrain. Inga kept close behind him, explaining under her breath, "He was so proud of that chocolate. He's eaten a small bit each day and said he'd save the rest for tomorrow." Her voice cracked. "He… he was trying to save it for me."
The dragon inside me stirred, furious, pacing behind my ribs like he wanted out. Before I could speak, a movement flickered in the corner of my vision, small, quick, darting between the rubble. The same shadow I had noticed earlier. I tensed, ready for trouble. Until the shape stepped into the moonlight.
It was just another child. Maybe ten. Maybe younger; Berlin shrunk its kids terribly. Thin as wire, limp in one leg, eyes too old for his face.
Inga exhaled. "Axel," she said softly.
He approached hesitantly, then held out something in his dirt-smudged hand. A melted, smashed, but unmistakable bar of chocolate.
Klaus gasped.
Axel thrust it toward him awkwardly. "Hier… für dich." His voice cracked.
Inga translated quietly. "He… he says he got it back for him."
Klaus stared at the bar, then at Axel, unsure. Hope and disbelief battled across his little face. My teeth clenched. I wanted to demand how, wanted to know what those other boys had done to him. But I already sensed the answer.
Inga knelt, and the shaking of her voice hit me in my core. Even more so when she looked up to me to translate what she had said to him. "Axel… they'll hurt you when they find out you took it back."
He lifted one shoulder, half a shrug, half resignation. "Sie tun mir immer weh."
"They always hurt me," she translated, her throat tight.
His next words were choked, just like Inga's when she explained what he said, "He says, at least this time…" she swallowed hard, "At least this time, it'll be worth it."
Every part of me went still. The dragon rose—slow, dangerous—like smoke curling through my bones. I'd seen beaten-down men in war zones. Prisoners. Refugees. Soldiers with nothing left.
But a child?
