He laced his hand in her slim fingers. Perhaps she was still that pillar—that rock that refused to be worn down. How much did she endure to stay so strong for him? He’d assumed it was their suffering that had robbed the life from her eyes, but maybe it was the way she always acted as though she had to be strong enough to carry them both.

Well, there was nothing he could do to change it. The only other option—not getting revenge—was no option at all.

“I’m the oldest now. I have to do this.” His grip tightened. “For both of us.”

“You don’t have to give your life because our family lost theirs.”

“Yes. I do.” Daniel squeezed his eyes shut. Why couldn’t she understand? “You don’t have to go with me. It’s not too late. Maybe the partisan girl and her contacts can get you some false papers, you can take a train west out of Wewelsburg—”

“Stop trying to make me abandon you.”

The fierceness in her voice threw him. Tears shook free from her lashes as she stared him down, trembling. His strong, resourceful Rebeka, the one who always had spare winter gloves in her bag when he inevitably forgot his own; the one who had listened to him practice études endlessly, noting just forcefully enough when his rhythm went astray; the one who had stayed up late into the night each month, long after their parents had fallen asleep over their desks, until she could make the shop’s numbers balance out.

In that moment, he would have done or said anything to take away her hurt. He’d have lain down his knives and his pistol. He’d have pulled himself apart to keep her warm. She was his sister—she was all he had left. And always she’d been there for him, never questioning, never judging him, forever cheering on whoever he was or chose to be. She let him feel normal, she let him feel real.

But this was the only possible path for him. Why couldn’t she love that part of him, too?

“Fine. I forgive you,” Daniel said. He was done arguing about this.

She swallowed again and unscrewed the lid on the jar of broth.

His turn to ask forgiveness. Daniel shoved his knees up under his chin and stared at the floor. “Will you forgive me anything I might have said or done this year that hurt you?”

“I forgive you for dragging us across Poland and Germany,” she said slowly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better companion for it.”

He flinched at that. Ari would have been better: Ari, the lion of their family, would have never gotten her into this mess. Their parents would have been better—Mama, who always saw the sunrise through the dead of night, and Papa, who never, ever let any of them want.