The French looked obviously uncomfortable; they mumbled some Mercis and took off too.
When he came back to us, some wild lightning still flickering behind his eyes, he looked almost… embarrassed. Klaus was the first to speak.
"Wow, how did you do that?" he blurted—in English.
Gideon stopped short. "You speak English now?"
Axel puffed his chest. "I taught him."
Klaus nodded proudly. "How did you do it?"
Gideon glanced at me, then crouched so he was eye-level with them. "Training," he said. "And being really stubborn."
"Can you teach us?" Klaus asked.
Gideon's smile softened. "Yeah, kid. I can teach you."
My chest ached.
He hailed a cab—an actual cab—and the boys' eyes went huge. Even Hilde perked up, staring at the fading black paint like it was a magic carriage. The driver gave us a look, unimpressed at the sight of three ragged German kids, one of whom was half-awake, wearinga makeshift sling, and being carried by an equally ragged woman. But the moment he saw Gideon's uniform, he straightened.
"McNair?" the driver asked.
"Yeah," Gideon said. "And step on it."
Klaus pressed his nose to the window, watching the city shift from ruins to the more intact American zone. Axel whispered under his breath, counting the moving cars like each one was a miracle. Hilde curled deeper into my arms, safe for the first time in who knew how long.
I leaned toward Gideon. "You didn't have to do that back there."
"Yes," he said simply, "I did."
We drove through Checkpoint Bravo; GIs waved us on, barely glancing at the kids. The cab rolled into McNair Barracks, and the boys' jaws dropped. To them, it must have looked like a fortress of shining glass. Bright lights. Tall buildings. Soldiers in crisp uniforms. A jeep roared by. Men laughed. Order. Structure. Normalcy.
Everything our side of the city didn't have.
"Wow," Klaus breathed.
Axel stared at the big stone entrance as if it were a castle gate. "This is where you live?"
Gideon shrugged. "Sort of. It's just barracks."
"Just?" I whispered, stunned. "This… this is beautiful."
He looked at me, and for a moment, his expression turned soft and vulnerable. As if he were seeing the barracks through my eyes and realizing how bleak Berlin looked in comparison.
Inside, he smuggled us through a staff door, nodding at a sleepy soldier at the desk who barely noticed. The hospital wing was warmer, cleaner, and brighter than anything the kids had ever seen.
Hilde was treated quickly. A real doctor set her arm properly, wrapped it carefully, and even gave her a lollipop from a bowl on the counter. Hilde stared at it like it was a ruby. Then her whole face lit up with the most beatific smile I had ever seen. My throat tightened.
When the doctor stepped away, Gideon leaned against the wall beside me. Close. Too close. Close enough that I felt the heat from his body, causing the inside of my stomach to flutter with unknown sensations. My skin turned hypersensitive in anticipation of a touch, a brush, any kind of contact.
"You need to be careful," he warned me quietly.
"I am always careful," I murmured.
"Not careful enough." His voice hardened. "The Russians are pushing harder every day. They want a spark. One spark. Any spark. And today…"
He shook his head. "Today could've been it."
