"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I'll make it better soon. I promise."
Then I took one of Klaus's shirts—too small for him now anyway—and cut it into strips. My hands shook as I fashioned a makeshift sling. It wasn't perfect. It might not even be good, but as I wrapped Hilde's sling around her tiny shoulder, a thought crept in, a soft, terrifying, persistent thought.
If I could help her… if I could help Axel… Maybe I could help all of them.
The Trümmerkinder. Children nobody claimed. Children nobody loved.
As I tied the knot behind her neck, Hilde sagged into me, exhausted. Her eyelids lowered, and she seemed to be falling asleep until a knock startled her awake and sent my heart stuttering. God help me, I didn't realize how much I had been hoping for that knock.
I nodded at Klaus and Axel. "Go. Open it."
They darted toward the door, pushing aside the patched boards. Gideon stepped inside. And for a second, everything in me stopped. He filled the space like he belonged there—leather jacket unbuttoned, hair windswept from flying. He carried a flat box that smelled unmistakably like pizza, the American kind the boys now worshipped.
His eyes landed on me, "Inga!" he breathed.
The way he said my name—relief, worry, something too big to name—made my knees go weak. He crossed the room in three strides, like he was going to kiss me. My heart picked up in anticipation. I wanted him to, so much. His hands lifted… stopped… then hovered uselessly in the air as he reined himself back.
He swallowed hard. "I… I didn't expect?—"
His eyes fell on Hilde, and his entire demeanor changed. "What—who—?" He crouched beside her instantly, eyes sharp. "Inga, what happened?"
I told him everything. The fall. The gang of boys. The broken arm. Her having no one, nowhere. Her being one more Trümmerkind swallowed by a city that had nomercy left.
"She needs a hospital," he said immediately.
"I can't," I whispered.
He looked at me sharply. "Can't?"
I explained about the options and how bad any of them were, because they would all lead back to Hilde being taken to an orphanage.
Gideon's jaw tensed.
He looked at Hilde again, at the way she shrank from the world, and something hardened in him.
"Okay," he said softly. "Then we won't do that."
He stood, thinking fast—pacing once, twice—raking a hand through his hair. Then his eyes lit with an idea.
"I know someone," he said. "On base. A medic. He owes me a favor."
I stared at him.
"But… she has no papers. No guardian. No?—"
"She doesn't need any of that," he said firmly. "Not where I'm taking her. The base clinic has a back entrance, and the night shift doesn't ask questions if you're with someone in uniform."
Axel gasped. Klaus looked awed. Hilde just blinked, dazed. And me? My breath caught. He was the miracle I had been praying for. "Youwould do that?" I whispered.
"Of course," he said simply. "For you, for her. It's the decent thing to do."
Heat climbed my throat. He held his arms out.
"Let me take her," he murmured.
I transferred Hilde carefully into his embrace. She weighed almost nothing. The sling held, but barely. Gideon adjusted it instinctively, as if he'd carried wounded children before.
Klaus grabbed my coat. Axel snatched the dirty stuffed animal he brought home one day. I wrapped Hilde in one of the new blankets Gideon had brought days ago. Then we stepped out into the night, into the ruins.
