"You can," he said fiercely. "You have to. I need to know you'll be safe so I can go after him."
I grabbed his jacket with shaking fingers, clinging to him as if my life depended on it. "Please—" I choked. "Please bring him back. Please—he's all I have?—"
Gideon wrapped his arms around me, fierce and protective, holding me against his chest like he could shield me from the world. "I swear," he murmured into my hair.
His voice shook, with fury, with fear, with something deeper. "I swear on my life, Inga—I'll bring him home."
I sobbed against him, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. Because happiness always had a price. And this time, the price was Klaus.
My Klaus.
My little brother.
My heart.
Gideon pulled back just far enough to look me in the eyes. "I'm going," he said. "Stay with Axel and Hilde. Go to your friend's house, Elke, is it?"
Numbly, I nodded. He put a wad of dollar notes into my hand, "Just in case. And here," he scribbled something on a piece of paper, "this ismy dad's number. If I don't come back, call him. He'll help." He took my chin in his hand and tilted it up, "Don't go anywhere until I'm back."
I nodded, even though every part of me screamed not to let go of him. He brushed his thumb across my cheek one last time. Soft, loving, and heartbreaking.
Then he turned and ran into the night.
And I collapsed to my knees in the dirt, clutching Axel as he cried, the warm breeze turning cold around us, the ring on my finger too bright, too beautiful, too cruel. "Please," I whispered into the darkness. "Please bring him back to me."
Berlin — July 21, 1948, Wednesday night
As I disappearedinto the dark, I refused to think about Klaus. If I let myself think about the boy too long, think about how small he was, how soft his hair still felt under my palm, how he'd smiled at me and held Inga's hand like she was his universe—I shook my head—I'd burn the city down.
So I didn't think. I moved.
I cut into the first alley past the corner, narrow and stinking of coal smoke, piss, and rotting brick. A stray dog bolted deeper into the shadows when it saw me, ribs sharp under its mangy coat. A cat stared down from a second-floor window with no glass, just a black rectangle cut into ruined stone.
This was a bad idea. Shifting in the city was always a bad idea. Too many eyes. Too many guns. Too much that could go wrong.
The dragon did not care.
They took our brood,he snarled.They took our hatchling!
He wasn't mine by blood, but that didn't matter. Klaus had crawled under my skin the day he'd waved at my plane below the air bridge, and something in the dragon had quietly marked him.
One of ours.
I pulled my jacket off, then my shirt, fingers moving fast, breath coming too hard. Boots, socks, trousers—folded them into a bundle the dragon could carry. The cobblestones were cool under my bare feet.
I closed my eyes and let the dragon uncoil the second I stopped holding him down. Heat began in my chest, low and deep, a coal that had been sitting banked all day suddenly cracked open. It spread along my ribs, down my spine, licking through my veins with molten fingers.
Bones stretched.
Joints popped.
The world tilted.
I clenched my teeth and rode it out, jaw grinding as my muscles bunched and twisted, tendons lengthening, skin tightening. Scales rippled up my arms, across my chest, down my legs in a wave of molten gold and bronze, catching the faint lantern light in a thousand tiny mirrors.
My hands curled, fingers lengthening, nails turning black and hard as iron. My shoulders wrenched backward, blades tearing free, unfolding into wings, vast, heavy, every movement a rush of air and muscle. My visionsharpened; the alley exploded into detail: every crack in the bricks, every shift in the shadows, the shimmer of heat from the sewer vent.
The pain was bright, clean, familiar. It felt like coming home.
