Ilse had secured a position in the castle’s secretary pool, which gave her access to all kinds of information, and Jürgen worked in the garage, driving shipments to nearby towns. “Some days I like to fantasize about dropping the shipments off at the wrong location. Sowing a bit of chaos, you know?” He smirked as he explained it. “Let the Wehrmacht bastards go hungry for a few days.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Simone asked.

Jürgen frowned at her. “Well, it’s too dangerous right now. They’d know exactly who’d done it.”

“We’re waiting for the right chance,” Ilse said. “As soon as we can figure out a safe way to go about it, then we’ll really make them pay.”

Safety. As if there was a safe way to resist. If things were “safe,” there was no need to fight back.

“What have you actually done that’s useful, then?” Simone asked.

Phillip and Rebeka exchanged a look. They clearly both had more experience biting their tongues. Though at that realization, Phillip wondered, maybe for the first time, if it had ever done him any good. Certainly not with Mr. Connolly. He wondered what Darius would say if he were here instead.

“I keep records of unusual shipment requests. For instance, they recently brought in archival material from Siegen,” Jürgen said. “And shortly afterward, the administrative building there burned down. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?”

“Terribly,” Rebeka muttered. Her terse expression hadn’t budged, and Phillip couldn’t blame her.

“It will be . . . difficult . . .” Mitzi studied them from the corner of her eye. “To hide you three. We’ll do our best, though. I think you’ll find Wewelsburg is a relatively safe haven in the shadow of the beast.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Simone said.

Ilse scowled. “We’re not monsters. Just because a few hateful fools seized power against our wishes—”

“Have you had any other refugees come through?” Rebeka interrupted. “Two boys around our age, maybe?”

The Germans looked at one another, then shook their heads. “Should we have?” Jürgen asked.

Rebeka bit her lip. “No. It’s nothing.”

The Germans muttered amongst themselves, in the sly way of teenagers talking about someone they dislike. Given his rudimentary language training and how quickly they were speaking, Phillip couldn’t catch their words, but there was definitely something disconcerting in their tone. He darted his hand out to squeeze Rebeka’s, fleetingly, and she let out a weary breath.