The taxi stopped. Gideon helped us out, and my eyes fell on a sign,Hotel am Zoo.
A real hotel. With intact windows that glowed warm, golden light across the street. With polished brass fittings. With a doorman in an immaculate coat, opening the door for two well-dressed women who looked like they belonged in another world entirely.
My breath broke.
"Gideon," I whispered, grabbing his sleeve, "we can't go in there. People like us—this is for diplomats, officers, rich people, not?—"
"You're with me," he said softly.
Those three words nearly undid me.
Inside, the lobby glittered. Marble floors reflected light from crystal chandeliers. The scent of polish and clean linen wrapped around me like a memory of childhood, before hunger, before fear, before everything fell apart.
Hilde hid behind my skirt, overwhelmed. Axel stared open-mouthed, and Klaus's hand trembled in mine.
Gideon walked to the desk like he belonged there. Like he'd done it a hundred times before.
"Suite, please," he told the clerk.
The man blinked at the three children, and at me in my patched dress, then looked back at Gideon's confident expression and American uniform.
"Yes, sir," he said quickly. "A large suite."
Keys and money changed hands, the clerk nodded quietly, and a bellboy appeared from out of nowhere, leading us toward a pair of metal doors, where he pressed a brass button. I jumped a little when the doors slid open with a soft, mechanical sigh.
Inside was a tiny room lined with polished brass and mirrored panels. A velvet mat softened the floor. Warm light glowed from a little domed lamp overhead.
An elevator.
A real elevator.
I hadn't stepped into one since before the war, since the days when Mutti used to take me to clean apartments in the upscale district, and I'd watch the doors open and close with wide-eyed fascination.
Klaus tugged on my sleeve, staring inside as if it were the gateway to another world.
"Inga," he whispered, "is… is it safe?" His voice wavered.
Axel hovered behind him, trying to look brave, but his eyes were darting around like a cornered animal. Hilde pressed her face against my skirt, terrified and curious all at once.
"It's safe," I assured them softly, though a little knot had formed in my own stomach. "It's just… a lift. A machine that takes us up."
A machine that worked. Here. In this city. In this life.
I swallowed an inappropriate giggle down.
Gideon gestured us forward. "It's okay. I promise."
The bellboy smiled politely, holding the accordion grate open. Klaus stepped in first—cautiously—then gasped when his reflection appeared in the mirrored walls. Axelfollowed, eyes even wider. Hilde shuffled in with tiny, hesitant steps.
I stepped in last.
The air inside smelled faintly of metal and something sweet, perfume, many different perfumes. A smell I associated with people who had never known hunger. The bellboy slid the grate shut, then the outer doors, and with a soft jolt, the elevator began to rise. Klaus grabbed my hand. Axel gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles went white. Hilde's eyes got huge, her mouth forming a perfectO.
My own heart thudded. Not with fear, exactly… with something else: wonder, memory, and the shock of comfort after a decade of nothing but survival.
The elevator hummed, climbing steadily. Light shimmered on the polished brass. Our reflections moved with us, four lost souls caught in a golden box, rising higher and higher, as if we were being lifted out of our old lives entirely.
"Inga," Klaus whispered, "we're flying. Again."
