“Like doing your homework,” Amy says, gliding to the table and placing a steaming plate of pasta covered in marinara sauce before Ify. “Or finishing your plate.” She winks at Ify in that annoying and obvious way that, Ify has realized, is Amy’s way of being charming. “It’s sort of like a duty. What you’re supposed to do. Like how Paige is supposed to go upstairs and tell Peter that dinner’s ready.”

Paige lets out a loving purr-growl, then smirks and gets up from her chair. She lights a soft kiss into Amy’s hair before vanishing around the corner.

Amy sets places for the rest of the table, then crouches by Ify. “The words on that plaque? They were spoken by a woman named Angela Merkel. Long ago, back when there was a Europe to speak of, she was what they called the chancellor of Germany. Their leader. Near the beginning of the previous century, in 2015, there was a massive refugee crisis. Because of war, many people had to flee the countries they were born in, countries they’d spent their entire lives in. Many of these people came from countries in Africa and the Middle East.”

“I know about the migrant crisis, Amy.” She makes sure her voice is soft so it doesn’t sound like too much of a chastisement.

“Well, when most of the countries with means were refusing refugees or trying to make life as difficult as possible for them, Chancellor Merkel said those words you see on that plaque. We will do it. You know what else she said? ‘Wenn wir uns jetzt noch entschuldigen müssen dafür, dass wir in Notsituationen ein freundliches Gesicht zeigen, dann ist das nicht mein Land.’”

“If we must now begin to apologize for having, in dire circumstances, shown a friendly face, then this is not my country.”

“Exactly. She was a real leader. She was kind when everyone around her thought it was better not to be. It didn’t matter where these people came from, what color they were. They were in distress, and she had the power to help them.” She lowers her voice, grows serious. “It means a lot to me that you would help us with Peter. He’s . . . broken.”

Like I was . . .

Ify’s heart softens. She puts her hand on top of Amy’s. Their fingers intertwine. “I am happy to help. Wir schaffen das,” she says, which gets Amy giggling.

“Oh, there he is!” Amy scurries off into the hallway, and Ify rises to her feet.

The smoke is nearly gone. Tendrils steam from every plate, but the air is clear. So clear that once Peter steps into the light, Ify can take in all his features at once.

Her heart stops. It can’t be . . .