Behind the kitchen block, the sight that greeted me almost made me drop the cauldron. Irena was there, as I knew she would be, but not alone. At the far end of the building, standing by her side—close, far too close—was Protz. They were smoking and smiling, but even from my distance I could sense Irena’s discomfort.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the main camp?” Irena asked him as I moved closer.

“The prisoners aren’t going anywhere, and if my absence is detected, no one will say anything.” Protz gave her his stupid, smug smile, and Irena probably wished she could slap it off as much as I did.

“The rest of us don’t have that luxury.”

Though she failed to keep the sarcasm from her voice, Protz didn’t seem to detect it. When she flicked her cigarette butt away and turned to go, he caught her by the waist. “Relax, I won’t let them penalize you. What are you doing this evening, Frieda?”

Though she gave him a small smile, her words were venomous. “None of your damn business.”

The response only encouraged him. He tossed his cigarette aside, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and pulled her close. “I’m making it my damn business.”

He didn’t notice when Irena stiffened—or if he did, he didn’t care. As Protz pressed his lips to hers, he guided her hips into his, minimizing the space between them while Irena’s hand drew back.

Before she struck, I pretended to stumble, bumped Protz aside, and tossed the ruined coffee all over Irena. They broke apart, gasping and cursing, while I scrambled across the ground to retrieve the empty cauldron, spluttering apologies.

“I’m so sorry, Herr Scharführer. I tripped—”

Though I expected the booted foot that met my stomach, it was still agonizing. For a moment, I coughed and drew painful breaths while Protz cursed my stupidity. I opened my mouth to apologize again, but, when I looked into the pistol barrel leveled at my head, the apology caught in my throat.

My plan was backfiring. I’d known it was risky because my plans were always risky, but I hadn’t expected Protz to be so upset. After all, he wasn’t the one doused in coffee. All I could do was cower, but I didn’t miss the unmistakable snap of the gun’s toggle, a sound that meant a bullet had lodged in his pistol’s chamber.

“Please, Herr Scharführer—!”

“If you touch her, it’ll be the last fucking thing you ever do.”

At Irena’s words, I cautiously looked up. Her jacket and skirt were drenched, and she shook liquid from her hands and glared at Protz.

Oh, God, she’s defending me. She’s acting like Irena, not like a guard, and now my plan has ruined everything, and he’s going to kill us both.