“Wait.” Phillip stopped his pacing. “The alley. There’s someone down there.”

Simone gritted her teeth. “Soldiers?”

“No. It’s—” Phillip sucked in his breath. “Shit, I think it’s Rebeka.”

Simone forced her jaw to unclench. “What the devil is she doing down there? They could see her—”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even see her walk this way. Hey!” He hissed down toward the alley. “Up here!”

Simone ran her thumb back and forth over the rifle’s stock. She wasn’t about to take her eyes off the soldiers. Behind her, Rebeka’s shoes thumped, wet, against the metal of the fire escape. Before her, two more soldiers exited the Kino. No—three—no. Simone’s stomach dropped. The third person was being frog-marched between them, red-faced and stoic—

Helene.

Promise me, Helene had asked her, away from the others. Promise me that if you must, you’ll do what needs to be done.

“What happened?” Phillip was asking Rebeka behind her. “You look spooked.”

Simone pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to shut them out. The Nazis would do terrible, terrible things to Helene: dig for any truth they thought they could bleed and beat and scrape out of her before discarding her husk. She didn’t deserve it. She’d only done the same as Simone—she’d fought. She was better than Simone, in truth. She actually cared for people, tried to save as many as she could, while all Simone wanted was—

Was what, exactly?

Simone had been so caught up in running away, in the pressure-valve release of each bullet she fired, that she couldn’t see the cliff edge she was racing toward. She didn’t dare wonder what would remain of her when there was no more pressure to unleash.

At least Helene had a purpose. She knew why she did what she did, all while knowing it might cost her everything. She deserved so much more.

She deserved to be spared.

Simone braced herself against the rifle. Caressed the firm barrel and the wooden stock, her intricate design only halfway carved into it. She settled into the rifle’s sights, that funnel that stripped away all her fear and uncertainty and animal urge to escape.

Helene’s hair had wormed loose from her tight braid and wisped around her head, halo-like. Her cheeks were flushed, but she held her chin high. Her broad face was solid and sturdy as granite. The Nazi on her left kept having to readjust his grip on her half arm, unable to manage a decent frog-march, and the tiniest smile tugged at the corner of Helene’s mouth every time he did.

This would be how she’d want it. Not hours or days from now, after they’d stripped her down, beaten her, brutalized her. Not after she’d learned how much it took to wrest the secrets from her soul. She would want to die proud.