He bobbed his head like one of those toy dogs people stick in car windows. Axel watched me differently. Not with hero worship. With wary curiosity. He understood more English than he let on.
I pointed at the blankets, then mimed cold, shivering, then warm. "Better?" I asked.
He nodded. "Better," he echoed carefully, pronouncing thetshard.
I didn't stay long. Staying felt careless. Inga could come back without warning, or someone could see me arrive loaded down with gifts and leave empty-handed. That kind of thing didn't go unnoticed.
Berlin lived on rumor now. And the wrong story could cost someone everything.
'Still, the next night, I did it again.
Inga went to work. I waited a while, then went back to the ruin with another armful: clothes this time. Socks, shirts, and a sweater that might fit Klaus if he rolled the sleeves. A dress for Inga, blue, simple, with a little pattern. I folded it carefully and tucked it under the blanket where she slept. It felt like crossing a line I couldn't name.
Handing them more food, I asked, "Klaus—what did Inga say?"
He frowned, thinking, then rattled off a stream of German. I caught about every tenth word.
"Zornig…"—angry.
"Dankbar…"—grateful.
"Nicht brauchen…" —doesn't need.
"Gut."—good.
I understood enough to smirk and feel some guilt, then Axel jumped in; his English was halting, but purposeful. "She… not happy. But… happy," he said. "She… eh…" He spun a finger beside his head. "She say you are…" He frowned. "Stur. Ah… stubborn."
I huffed out a laugh. Yeah. That tracked.
Klaus tried to give me back one of the blankets. He pressed it into my hand and shook his head vigorously.
"Inga says…" Axel struggled, then settled on, "Too much."
I put the blanket back into Klaus's arms and closed his fingers around it. "Tell her," I said slowly, "that it makes me feel better. Me. Not her."
Axel translated. Klaus considered that with grave seriousness, then nodded once, as if he was willing to allow me this one strange American need.
We kept it up for a week.
I fixed what I could in the ruin—reinforced a leaning beam with a stray board, nailed a few planks over a dangerous gap, and more by the side of the bed. I couldn't make it safe, not really. But I could make itlesslethal.
Twice, I ran into Bastian and his pack at the edge of the courtyard. The second time, he squared his shoulders like he wanted to prove something.
"Leave them alone," I warned in English, stepping in close enough that he had to tilt his head back to meet my eyes.
He didn't understand the words, but he understood the intent. And if he didn't at first, the dragon rumbling in my chest translated well enough. His bravado wilted. He muttered something under his breath and pulled his boys away.
The whole time, I avoided Die Ecke as if it were enemy territory. I didn't trust myself not to walk in and stare at her like a fool. I told myself it was better this way. Let her be angry. Let her be grateful. Let her never know how close I was to losing control of the careful distance I'd built for myself.
At night, I lay on my cot in McNair and stared at the ceiling.
I thought about home. About my parents and Molly sitting at a table that probably felt too big without me there. About my father pretending not to worry. About my mother sighing into space.
I thought about Molly, probably herding cows, or maybe riding in a rodeo by now, just to show off and protest the fact that she was a girl. I should write. I should call. Tell them I was still breathing. Tell them about a city that refused to die and a girl who refused to bend.
Instead, I thought abouther.
About the way she'd looked at me in that alley, terror and trust mixed together. About the glimpse of her soul I'd seen when Axel and Klaus shared their chocolate. About the way saying her name in my head made something in me settle and light up all at once.
