Einstein’s general theory of relativity spoke of gravity, folding time and space, gliding across them uninterrupted. That was how Liam first made sense of it—he hadn’t graduated from high school at fifteen by believing in magic. He was a man of science. But now he recognized this force as something far more primitive: harnessing untamed energies, clutching them tight, feeling them shiver as they awaited his command. The whispers turned sharp, pricking him like barbed wire, but he fed the pain right back into them. A positive feedback loop growing into something even greater.

“Not bad,” Junker said. “Shall we begin?”

Liam smiled as the darkness inside him sat up straight.

Junker gestured to the piles of betting chips beside each officer. “Now, you must understand, we ‘play for keeps,’” he said in English. “Isn’t that how you Americans say? You are going to bet with us, yes?”

Liam motioned to his bookbag. “I’m afraid I don’t have much.”

“That’s all right. Perhaps we can barter something else.”

“Maybe we can bet with secrets,” one of the men offered, revealing a nicotine-stained grin.

Junker nodded at him, but it was strained, like he resented him for jumping ahead in Junker’s game. “A promising idea.”

“I don’t know what secrets I have you could possibly want to know,” Liam said.

Junker picked up his cards and began to organize them. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

First round. They placed their bets. Liam bet one secret; the bartender brought fresh drinks while they played their hands. Liam’s came in lowest by far, his Ober card badly outranked, but he could barely feel the prickle of fear over the roar inside his skull, the adrenaline pumping through him full-throttle now. The longer he held on to the shadows, the more they weighed on him, sinking sharp teeth into his thoughts and tinging his sight with red. Just a little longer. He had to hold on.

“First secret, then. You are far from Frankfurt, Mr. Doyle.” Junker drummed his fingers on his holstered Walther P38. Liam didn’t miss the warning. “What brings you to Westphalia? It is very curious, after all”—here he looked around at his fellow officers—“that we should find you so close to France’s border.”

So they were concerned about the French Resistance at least as much as American infiltrators—Liam filed that bit away for later use. “I’m a historical researcher,” he replied coolly. “I’ve heard there are many interesting archives out here. Besides—” Liam smiled in turn. “Isn’t France part of Germany now?”

One of the officers snorted. “Hardly seems like a good time for sightseeing.”

“Well, the autumn trees are lovely. Or don’t you think your Führer has this war under control?”