I dabbed the handkerchief against my lip, stared at the vermilion stain, and took an unsteady breath of my own. Some wars were fought with guns, others with the mind and will. The fight against Auschwitz was deeper and more complex than any on the battlefront. It whittled away at the mind and will until it had robbed its opponent of all defenses. Auschwitz was a master, but each day of survival was a day we defeated it. I intended for us to see this game through to the end.

“Every day, I choose to live and fight, and every day, people around me choose to do the same. They give me the strength to go on. And together, we will live and fight through this.” I paused and took Irena’s hand. “And I hope you know you have one of the biggest hearts.”

Her hysteria had subsided, but a tear glistened on her cheek before she brushed it away, cleared her throat, and smirked. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

“It’s true, and this . . .” I gestured to the wrinkled uniform on the floor. “I can never repay you for it. And I’ll never understand why you came back.”

Irena followed my gaze. “You know how I feel about self-preservation. I still think it’s the smartest thing to do in these times. But what the hell do I know?”

I smiled, and she gave my hand a light squeeze before crossing the room toward a dark wooden wardrobe with mirrored doors. She kicked off her boots and selected another field-gray uniform, identical to the first. She exchanged one wool skirt for the other and smoothed the large pleat down the front, then made sure her white shirtwaist wasn’t soiled before donning the clean jacket. After stepping into the boots, Irena regarded her reflection with disgust while she put the watch and gloves in one pocket. When I offered her the handkerchief, she waved it away, so I tucked it into one of my hidden pockets.

“Will you do me a favor and be incredibly particular about the standards of your uniform?” I asked as I picked up the stained garments. “The more time I spend cleaning it, the less time I have to spend in the kitchen.”

Irena flashed a mischievous smile. “Frieda won’t be satisfied until every button shines brighter than the damn sun, remember? If that takes all morning, so be it.”

True to her word, Irena let me spend a leisurely morning cleaning her uniform, then escorted me back to the kitchen. As we walked, the afternoon was pleasant—or would have been if we’d been anywhere but Auschwitz. The breeze that surrounded us was mild and temperate, and the sky was clear and blue—except for the addition of smoke.