“Ah, don’t worry. You’ll be all right.” The man paused. “I’m hoping my sister will take me in. They don’t much like me where I’m from.” He held out his leg, which was twisted in a painful way. “Doesn’t hurt,” he said. “Not much.”

The soldiers moved closer. “Papers,” one demanded of a woman.

Panic rose in Isaac. He stood abruptly, whispering, a lie, “Ah, my dad. Must go.” He paused. “Best of, um, luck.”

“So, I’m right.” The man looked up at him. “Not German. And you’re . . . ah. That’s the thing. And a tall one, too, aren’t you.” Much too loud. The soldiers were staring at the man, but he didn’t seem to notice. They glanced from the man up to Isaac, and back.

Then he saw. There. On the far side of the terminal. There was a gray cap and blue peacoat. Isaac began to walk away.

Seconds later he heard a shout from behind. Isaac hunched his shoulders and shut his eyes, wishing he was invisible.

Wishing he could—would—do something for the man. But what? What could he do? This was not a moment to jump into a hero’s role. Not a moment to be a wolf.

But the man. His kindness. Isaac turned. He prepared himself, even when his heart was pounding. He raised his hand, ready to intervene.

But the Nazi soldiers were already halfway across the station, dragging the limping man, whose game leg flapped helplessly as he kicked with his good one. One of the soldiers looked back and—Isaac was sure of this—looked right through him. Straight through, as if his wish had come true and he was invisible.

He was frozen with surprise as the soldiers and the man disappeared around the corner. An old woman began rifling through the man’s abandoned pack.

Isaac found the blue peacoat again and he was ushered out of the station. Confusion and then shame filled him, the shame of not having been able to act quickly enough.

The man had been taken in the same way as he’d seen Miss Rachel taken, and Isaac once again had not been able to stop it.

A few minutes later Isaac heaved mackerel and more against the outside wall of the station, tears blinding him as the cold brick pressed into his forehead. When he was finished, he straightened, shouldered his pack, and followed his guide.

He had to keep going.

*   *   *