Jamison muttered something vicious under his breath. "Did they cross the corridor boundary?"
"No. They stayed just outside. Watching."
"Harassment," he said. "Deliberate. They want a reaction."
I nodded. "They won't get one."
Jamison gave me a weary look. "They'll get something eventually. This city is a damn mousetrap, and Stalin's shaking it to see who flicks the cheese."
I didn't answer. There was nothing to say. Silence stretched a moment; the only sound was the distant jackhammer rhythm outside.
"Alright," he sighed finally. "What do you need, Griffin?"
I swallowed. "I want to get married."
Jamison blinked. Once. Twice.
"Married," he repeated, as if I'd spoken in Russian.
"Yes, sir."
He exhaled, not annoyed, just stunned. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of forms so thick it could stop a bullet. "Fiancée visa. Sponsorship. Background checks. Double background checks. Civilian affidavits. Moral conduct certificate. Sector clearance."
He stacked the pages like a house of cards. "And you'll need a chaplain willing to sign."
I blinked. "That's… a lot."
"This," he said, tapping the mountain of forms, "isa lot. But you asked."
I stared down at the pages, heart pounding with something halfway between terror and anticipation.
"How long?" I asked.
"If everything goes right? Two weeks."
It didn't take him long to realize my disappointment. He didn't know why I was in such a haste, didn't know how much I wanted to get Inga and the kids out of those ruins. Still, he threw me a breadcrumb. "If everything goesveryright? One."
One week. My stomach did a strange, swooping thing. Jamison watched me carefully. "This girl—she must be something."
"She is," I said, voice rougher than intended.
Jamison exhaled and leaned back in his chair. The springs groaned under the weight of a man carrying too many secrets. "Then don't screw it up, Captain. Berlin eats good things first."
I hesitated at the door. "Sir," I asked, "if Idon't seemore… incidents?—"
"You tell me," he said immediately. "No one else. Not Carter, not your squadron,notthe press. Me."
Even if you have to pretend it never happened, his eyes seemed to say.
"Yes, sir."
"Good." He waved me off, already reaching for another crisis folder. "Now get out of my office before something explodes in the British sector and ruins my hour."
As I stepped into the hallway, the floor trembled faintly. Somewhere far away, a dud bomb had gone off, another reminder that Berlin still burned beneath the rubble. As if it had been summoned by Jamison's words.
I clutched the paperwork to my chest.
For the first time in months, I felt like I was moving toward something good.
