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“Yes. My friend, Monique. Her Maman will look after me until it’s safe for me to come back here.”

Until it’s safe. The lie they both know is a lie. But what else can they say?

“Then hurry along, little one. It’s getting dark. You don’t want to be outside after curfew.”

Josie doesn’t need to be told twice. She runs.

“Maman, Josie’s here,” Monique calls out, having opened the door to a soft knock.

Stéphanie appears in the doorway. Takes one look at the girl’s face, white, terrified, hollow, and knows what has happened.

“Come in, Josie. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Josie steps inside. The door closes behind her. And in the hallway of Stéphanie’s apartment, surrounded by the familiar smell of cooking and security, she finally breaks down.

She collapses to the floor, sobbing. Great wrenching sobs that shake her entire body. Stéphanie kneels beside her and pulls her close, rocking her like a baby.

“They took them,” Josie chokes out. “They took all of them. Grand-Mère. Grand-Père. And I think they must have taken Tata Andrée—I didn’t see her. The Militia took them. And I ran. I ran and left them, and they took them away.”

“You did exactly right,” Stéphanie says fiercely. “You ran. That’s what they wanted. That’s what Andrée would have wanted. For you to find your way here. You’re safe with us.”

But Josie doesn’t feel safe. None of them are. Not anymore.

The Levallois family has been arrested. The network is compromised. And somewhere in Paris, in a Militia interrogation center, Andrée, Tina, and Louis are facing the consequences of their resistance.

And Josie, a twelve-year-old Jewish child, is alone again.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Andrée sits in the back of the Militia car, a guard on either side of her. All she can think about is Josie. Will she remember to knock when she comes home? Will she be able to run, to get away from men with guns pointing at her? Will she make it to Monique’s? Can Stéphanie feed two children now her husband has been sent east? How terrified Josie will be. When it all becomes too much, she thinks of her parents back in their apartment, held at gunpoint, waiting. Are they frightened? Of course they are. Their fear will not be for themselves but for her, their only child, and Josie, and their friends.

She knows where she is going. Everyone in the Resistance knows. 44 rue le Peletier. Militia headquarters. On the street of horrors. The place people enter and often don’t leave.

The building is unremarkable. Gray stone. Tall windows. It could be an office building, a bank, a government ministry. But Andrée knows what happens inside. Everyone knows.

They take her through a side entrance, downstairs into a basement. The air grows colder, damper, the June sunshine nothing but a memory. She can hear voices, doors slamming, a sound that might be someone crying or might be water pipes gurgling. She tells herself it’s the plumbing.

Her cell is three meters by two. Cold stone walls. No window. There’s a bucket in the corner and the smell coming from it makes her gag. How many people have been kept here? How many have suffered here?

The door slams. She hears the lock turn. And Andrée is alone.

The sun is fading when Tina and Louis are led from the cars that had delivered them here to the building where they know their daughter is also a prisoner. They glimpse each other briefly as they are forced through the enclosed central courtyard.

“I love you, mon amour,” Tina calls out.

Louis turns around to look at his wife and receives a slap over the head for his attempt.

Thrown into separate cells without light, husband and wife scramble around on the floor until they find something resembling a mattress. Alone they curl up and attempt to sleep.

They both know it won’t be long before they will be interrogated. They will need all their strength and willpower to protect those they love—their network and all the Resistance fighters who will help bring peace to Paris, to their beloved city, where they hope that Josie might grow up and thrive.

“You must eat something,” Stéphanie cajoles Josie. She and Monique have divided their meager evening meal into three.

“Thank you, madame, but I am not hungry. Please, you and Monique eat it.”

“You have to eat,” Monique begs her.

Josie looks at her closest friend, her saviour at school, and sees tears in her eyes.