Winter gave way to spring, even in the mountains. The snow was melting, the days were growing longer, and one morning, during appell, Nina was captivated by the sound of birdsong, joyful and exultant, in the nearby trees.

Later that day, while wiping a pan dry, she flipped it over to ensure she’d polished away every speck of grease. The pan’s bottom caught the light just so, and she froze as she glimpsed a face in its reflection.

The face was pale and wan, and was framed by a nimbus of frizzy ringlets. It had wary, searching, deep-set eyes. Lips that were cracked and dry. Cheekbones so angular they’d be better suited to a caricature. It was the face of a woman who was dying.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to turn the pan away, finish with it, set it down, move on.

“Nina.”

It was Georg, come to stand at her side, his gnarled hands taking the pan before she could drop it.

“Die Sowjets sind nicht weit entfern.” The Soviets are not far.

She was afraid to move, even to breathe.

“Nicht verzagen.” Don’t give up.

Reaching out blindly, she found and grasped his hand. Only for a moment. Just so he would know she was grateful for his kindness. And then she got on with her work.

THE FIRST TO fall ill was a guard. Fever, came the whispers. The woman recovered, but was weak and addled and hardly able to stand.

Then it struck the prisoners. One after the other they sickened, grew ever weaker, and died. They were given no medicine and saw no doctor.

Klap no longer left her rooms; did she fear the contagion, or had she, too, fallen ill? There was no way to prevent it, at least not that Nina could discern. She and Stella kept themselves as clean as they were able, and they drank nothing but water that had been boiled, but others did the same and were still struck down.

The outside workers had stopped coming to the camp; the furnaces had cooled and the workshops were empty. Even Georg had vanished from the kitchens. The end had to be near, but there was no knowing how long it would be. How distant they were from their liberation.

There was no warning when the train arrived to evacuate the prisoners, only a shouted call for appell before the sweating, nervous guards pushed the women through the gates and into a string of waiting boxcars. Nina knew a moment of panic when she couldn’t find Stella, but the girl appeared after a few minutes, pushing her way through the crowded car, her eyes glittering with excitement.

“This is it! They’re sending us home!”

“I don’t think—”

“That’s what everyone is saying. They’re sending us . . . well, we’re not sure, not exactly, but it doesn’t matter, does it?”