Maybe it was their fate to always lose, to be beaten down, to see their dreams snatched away. Daniel could try to destroy the SS High Command, but it would likely kill him. If Liam pursued the shadow world once more, it would devour him, too. Either way, he lost. Either way, men like his father, like Pitr, like Heinrich Himmler and all these smug Nazi bastards would win. He and Daniel were only two boys standing against a tide of tyranny, a civilization built on hate.

Worse still, Liam hated that even as he felt like surrendering, the shadows called to him, his desire to tap into them again a living urge trying to break out of his skin. All but begging him to harness them one final time.

Another soldier came to join them then with a fresh round of beer. His grin, mossy and leering, lingered on Liam for too long. “Getting thirsty, spy?”

Liam didn’t answer. It didn’t stop the soldier from sloshing half his mug onto Liam. He sputtered as ale drenched the front of his shirt.

“What’d you do that for?” one of the brownshirts whined. “Such a waste of good beer.”

“It was worth it for the look on his face.” The guard drank from the rest of his mug and exhaled. “Ahh. Did you hear from the castle? They captured a Judenschwein trying to assassinate Dr. Kreutzer.”

Liam’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“Kreutzer? Ach, that man gives me the creeps. My brother volunteered for his trials, and he just . . . hasn’t been the same since.”

“Your brother was an asshole. Besides, the doctor’s project is supposed to make us even stronger, even better at fighting off enemies of the Reich . . .”

Liam clenched his fists tight, trying to drive off the insistent hum inside his skull. Whispers of power, promises of vengeance. Just one more time—what was one more time, if it meant he could save Daniel? Save the world? What was one more time feeling the power surge through him again, until he was power, until he could devour his enemies and destroy everything, like they’d destroyed him?

No—this was why Daniel hadn’t wanted him to do it. This was why he couldn’t let it in. Even if it would be so easy to give in, to defeat the Nazis—easier, even, than doing nothing at all—

Liam started humming. A single note, a sustained frequency. He found the dark tendrils swirling around his bound hands like an old friend.

Oh, Liam. There you are.

The voice echoed across the town square as the brownshirts went hazy. Darkness shimmered across the stones, bloodied trees and burned-out ruins overlying the whitewashed tavern and stone cottages as he opened the slightest rift. Eyes blinked at him from the blackness as something slithered past his feet.

Liiiii-aaaaaaam. I knew you couldn’t stay away . . .