He’d seen too far much death in the past day, but it only hardened his resolve. A vivid, gruesome reminder of the world his parents and uncle had known, all the pain and suffering they tried so hard to armor themselves against. He’d never really known how it felt to be right in tragedy’s grip, even if he saw that sorrow, close enough to touch. He wanted to stop it the way that only he could.

“Wait. Hold here,” Simone hissed back at them.

Rebeka’s hand caught his sleeve reflexively before she flinched and muttered an apology.

“What is it?” Phillip asked.

Simone started into the forest, hands at her waistband. “I need to piss.”

Rebeka stifled a laugh. Phillip couldn’t look at her, or he’d start laughing too. But then their eyes met, and it felt so good, so pure.

“Should we be looking for your brother?” he asked, still grinning.

“We know where he’s headed. I doubt we’ll be able to catch him before they reach Wewelsburg.”

“And you’re okay with this?” Phillip asked.

Her mouth flattened. “I have to be.”

Phillip exhaled. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to be worrying about—well, any of this. Maybe you can head back to Paris with Simone, like he said—”

“No. I want him to . . .” She gazed into the darkness around them. “I want us to get through this. Together.”

“Then we’ll do our damnedest to make that happen.”

Simone reemerged from the twilit trees and beckoned them over. “This way. I spotted something.”

They followed her for a few hundred yards, then crouched down, the escarpment overhead deadening even the sound of the breeze. In the starlight, Phillip just barely saw the shine of Simone’s and Rebeka’s eyes, the latter staring straight ahead without seeing much that he could tell.

“There’re lights up ahead,” Simone said under her breath. “A cabin or farmhouse, maybe. But if there are lights, it probably isn’t empty.”

“Should we keep looking for one that is?” Phillip asked. “Or if they have a barn or shed that we could sneak into—”

“I’m not afraid of them.” Simone and Phillip both turned toward Rebeka. Her English, already choppy, had turned to blunt little jabs. A challenge twisted on her lips.

“The Nazis or the monsters?” Phillip asked.

“Either one.”

“Well, you should be.” Simone’s fingers played with the straps on her bag. She’d gotten a new hunting jacket from Helene, Phillip realized with a pang. It was much too broad for her, the shoulder seams falling somewhere around her biceps. He wondered if she could ever forget where it had come from.

“Maybe,” Phillip drawled, “we could keep going, and look for another place—”