I nodded, not trusting myself to answer. My body was a tingle of aftershocks, my mind a liquid mess. I wanted to say something funny, to make the moment less terrifying, but nothing came to mind except his name.
"Gideon," I whispered.
He smiled, and it was a crooked, broken thing, but it made my heart flip in a whole new way. "That's me," he said.
We lay together in the oversized hotel bed, tangled up in sheets that smelled of fresh laundry and starch, and I allowed myself to believe that maybe there was a future, even if it was just tomorrow. I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing until mine matched it, until the air between us was full of nothing but hope and the promise of morning.
We lay there a long time, warm against the cold, filled up with something new and bright. I never wanted to move again. He stroked my hair until he thought I was asleep, then whispered, "I love you, Inga. God help me, I love you."
I didn't answer. I pretended to sleep, but my heart was wide awake, certain that if I answered aloud, the world would break the spell. I pressed myself closer and let the warmth of him fill all the places the war had left empty.
Berlin — July 26, 1948, Monday
Three days.Three days had passed, and I still felt like I was moving through someone else's life. A better life. One I hadn't believed I'd ever deserve.
Every night, I lay beside Inga, listening to her steady breathing, her soft sighs, the way she curled into me as though she'd been made to fit under my arm. And every night, she welcomed me with a trust so fierce it humbled me down to my bones.
She wanted me.Me.Not the uniform. Not the pilot. Not the hero she thought she saw in that alley. Me, man and dragon both.
I still couldn't believe she'd offered herself so tenderly, so willingly. And that she continued to do so, each night sweeter, braver, more open than the last. She accepted the dragon without hesitation, asking questions with wide, curious eyes instead of fear.
"Does it hurt you to change?"
"No."
"Can you fly in storms?"
"Sometimes."
"Are there more like you?"
"Yes. Back home."
Montana. I told her about Montana. About the wide skies and golden plains.
About my family's ranch nestled against the shadow of the mountains. About the old stories passed down through generations, how our ancestors had come from the Celtic Isles centuries ago, bringing the dragon magic with them across the ocean, settling in the frontier where open sky meant freedom.
"Dragons like high places," I'd said, brushing her hair back as she listened. "My people found mountains that felt like home. And we've been there ever since."
She had absorbed every word.
"And they know?" she whispered. "Your town… knows?"
"They do," I said. "Not all the details, but enough. We don't hide from our own."
Her eyes had gone soft and glowing.
"Do you think… I could be happy there?"
"Yes, sweetheart," I'd said, kissing her forehead. "I think you were meant to be there."
And now—God help me—patience was becoming an impossible virtue. We weren't using protection. Every night, her warmth and trust wrapped around me like a promise. If she got pregnant now, before the papers cleared, we'd be in for scrutiny, and I refused to let anyone question our marriage. Our family. Our future.
I needed that marriage sealed. Now.
I arrived at Tempelhof feeling higher than the sky I flew. But the mood shifted the moment I stepped into the hangar.
"Captain Griffin," called a mechanic, jerking his head toward the admin building. "CO wants you. Now."
