His captors parked the military transport truck on the outskirts of Wewelsburg, under autumn leaves that sparked gold and orange like embers as they frog-marched him across a stone bridge. They were joined by a handful of stormtroopers scarcely older than Liam, with lopsided haircuts and red lines on their throats from too-tight shirt collars. They hung a sign from his neck—FOREIGN AGENT—and sang the “Horst Wessel Lied” to commemorate a fellow fascist who’d been killed by Jewish agents, one of the boys claimed.

The Nazis were killing unfathomable numbers of Jewish people, but it figured the one dead German got his own song.

By the time they reached the town square, they’d attracted a meager crowd of off-duty soldiers and teenage boys too young and gawky to join the army just yet. Someone ran out with mugs of ale from a nearby tavern so they could drink and gossip while Wewelsburg’s residents hurried past, trying not to make eye contact with him.

And Liam just let it happen. He felt the castle’s shadow hanging over him like an executioner’s blade. Maybe Daniel was in there now, murdering Dr. Kreutzer; maybe he’d been captured or killed himself. Maybe right this minute Pitr was tearing open a rift between the two worlds and stabilizing it with Sicarelli’s book. Could Liam even stop him if he did reach out for the shadow once more? Could Liam stop himself from being consumed?

“Nothing to say for yourself, spy?” One of the boys, an acne-pocked kid practically swimming in his uniform, jabbed a finger into Liam’s sternum. “It’s a lot more fun if you fight back.”

Liam hung his head. He was so tired—too tired, even, to keep himself upright against the post where he’d been tied. “What makes you so sure I’m a spy?”

“That terrible accent, for one.” The SS officer who’d found him in the cabin smoothed out Daniel’s note against his knee. “And your girlfriend’s letter is in English.”

Liam clamped his mouth shut.

“‘I wish I could have spent a lifetime loving you,’” the officer read in a squeaky falsetto. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Far away from you,” Liam growled.

The thugs burst into laughter and clanked ale mugs together. “Maybe we should go find her. Show her a real good time.”

Liam bared his teeth. “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Daniel had encouraged him to close the rift for good. Deny himself and the Nazis both the shadow’s power. What Liam hated most was how right Daniel was—how close he’d already come to succumbing to the darkness. What right did he have to criticize Daniel for doing the same?