Inga froze behind me. Klaus whimpered and hid behind her skirt. Axel moved in front of Hilde instinctively.
I took the envelope and opened it. I only read the first line,
Return the boy.
Then I laughed.
Actually laughed.
The messenger blinked. "This is not?—"
I held the paper up between two fingers.
"When you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of," I said calmly, "you can tell Gerhard Weber…"
I flicked my fingers. Heat surged. The dragon's breath curled up my arm like a secret flame. The paper erupted into ash.
"…that Klaus ismine now," I finished. "My son."
The messenger recoiled. "You—you cannot?—"
The kids let out a loud Oh!
I shoved the pile of ashes into his chest hard enough to make him stumble backward. "Tell him he gets one chance to leave us alone." I stepped forward, eyes going molten gold. "One. Chance."
The messenger backed down the hall; he was shaking from head to toe, and his entire visible skin turned white as chalk.
"And if he tries again?" I added, letting steam curl from my nostrils. "I burn," I said, "everything he stands on."
The man fled. Inga sagged against the wall, trembling. I turned back to her immediately, gathering her into my arms.
"It's over," I murmured into her hair. "We're leaving. He'll never touch you again. Or Klaus. Or any of them."
She nodded into my chest, gripping me like I was the only solid thing in her world. Klaus came and pressed his cheek against my side. Axel hugged my leg. Hilde reached up with both hands.
I wrapped them all in my arms. I had a family now. And no one on this earth—Russian, American, dragon, or human—was going to take them from me.
Berlin — July 28, 1948, Wednesday
The morning we left Berlin,the whole city seemed to hold its breath. We boarded the military truck at the side entrance of the hotel; Gideon had arranged everything, down to the last paper. The children and I were wearing our new clothes and shoes. Klaus practically vibrated with excitement. Axel clutched Hilde's hand the whole time, both solemn and excited in that strange way children are when they sense the edges of something huge.
I held onto Gideon's arm the entire drive, afraid that if I let go, everything would dissolve like a dream. When we reached the airfield, a C-54 loomed like a metal giant under the silver skin. The wings were gleaming where the sun's rays hit them in the morning haze. Gideon squeezed my hand once, then led us toward the ramp.
"Ready?" he asked softly.
I nodded, though my stomach flipped. "Ready."
"Home," he murmured.
The word poured through me like sunlight.
We followed the airman up the metal ramp; the children clung to my skirt and Gideon's hand. Inside, the plane's belly was all rivets and steel ribs, the floor lined with canvas seats stretched tightly over metal frames. Cargo nets hung along the walls, bulging with supplies headed back to the States. A faint scent of oil, recycled air, and something metallic filled my lungs, sharp and new and terrifyingly exciting.
Gideon helped Klaus up the last step, then guided me inside. The ceiling was low enough that tall men had to duck. The windows were round portholes, each showing a slice of the sky. Soldiers and families settled in quietly, coats and bags tucked by their feet, murmuring to nervous children. It felt less like boarding a plane and more like stepping into a great migrating bird preparing to leap across the world.
We found our row—wide bench seats with rough straps—and Gideon buckled the kids in, making sure each clasp clicked firmly. When he turned to me, his eyes softened, as if sayingtrust me… you'll be safe.
I took a deep breath and smiled at him. I sat and took his hand as the hatch sealed shut behind us.
