“Don’t tell me we had to do it. We didn’t have to do anything, but it was that or be killed.” Her laugh was harsh, bitter. “Do you realize how absurd that is?”

Her words surprised me, and I was even more surprised when I realized she was right. Of course it was absurd. Nothing made sense here. But I’d grown so accustomed to the absurdity that I hadn’t noticed it until she said so.

A distant look filled Irena’s eyes. She went to a world all her own, and I listened to her furious mutters.

“The guards have a resort on a beautiful lake nearby. They call it Solahütte. When I went on Sunday, Heinrich told me about his favorite restaurants, museums, and nightclubs in Salzburg. Johanna cried over a letter that said her brother had died from surgical complications following a battle injury. I hiked and sunbathed with them and many others. The next day, they were beating and shooting prisoners, shoving them into gas chambers, listening to their screams while they died, and cremating them in ungodly numbers. So many corpses piled everywhere . . . they can’t even dispose of them fast enough. It’s inhuman; it’s absolutely inhuman.” Her words faded, and when she looked at me tears shone in her eyes. “But they’re people, Maria. The guards and the prisoners. They’re people. And I don’t understand how people can treat other people like this.”

I’d seen her reaction many times in my fellow inmates, even in myself. The sheer insanity and wickedness of this place would break you if you let it. It almost broke me. And now I was watching it break her.

“Even though I was here when I was going to be executed, I had no idea it was like this. I knew the resistance had received reports but never learned what those contained. When I volunteered to come, the only training I received was a brief lecture. A regime obsessed with order and efficiency, and they failed to do something as simple as prepare me for a job? Or they were deliberately vague so I wouldn’t refuse? I was praised for serving the Reich, told to supervise, maybe give punishments. Then, when I arrived, I was informed this work is important, necessary—” Irena fell silent again, stared at the wall, and closed her shaking hands into fists. When she spoke, she fought to keep her voice level. “I don’t want to be Frieda fucking Lichtenberg.”

I placed a gentle hand on her arm. “You don’t have to be. Please go home, Irena. Don’t put yourself through this on my account.”

Despite the temptation, she drew an unsteady breath and shook her head. “I’m not leaving, especially not after seeing what I’ve seen. God knows I can’t understand how you’re alive.”