“I guess I understand why you’re a damn Volksdeutsch,” Irena muttered at last.

He smirked. “That was the worst apology I’ve ever heard, but I’ll accept it.”

“Good Lord, don’t make me take it back,” she replied with a huff, but as she stepped away I saw the smile she was attempting to hide.

I drew closer to the fire, enjoying the heat prickling my skin. I’d forgotten what a real fire felt like, as opposed to the pathetic heaters that warmed our blocks. As I studied the dancing flames, I inhaled the smoky air, smelling of wood chips, but when I closed my eyes I choked on the familiar stench of singed hair and burning flesh—

“Maria, are you listening?”

Startled, I opened my eyes, and the reek went away. It took me a moment to comprehend where I was, though I couldn’t fathom why. Maybe because the memory hadn’t felt like a memory at all. The realization was as chilling and brutal as a winter night in Birkenau.

When I turned to face Irena and Franz, they looked as if they were wondering what had been on my mind. Thank goodness they didn’t ask.

“I’m going back to the hospital to get a few things,” Franz continued. “You’re not the first resistance member or escaped inmate my contacts have directed here, though you are the first to stumble upon us by chance.” He flashed a little smile. “Some of my colleagues at the hospital can be trusted, but it’s best we keep you hidden.”

I nodded, combatting an unsteady breath. First I was an inmate, now a fugitive.

After putting his hat and overcoat back on, Franz crossed toward Irena, caught her waist, and pulled her into a kiss—one she returned with the same enthusiasm. “Well done,” he murmured, glancing at me before releasing her.

As the door closed behind him, she met my small smile. This time she returned it.

Frau Meinhart joined us. “Elsa’s old clothes are in the room where you stayed last night, so you can change while you wait for Franz. You’ll find a suitable selection.”

Not selection, anything but selection.