Her smile twitched upward. “You’ve been here long?”

“I, uh . . . I’m probably not supposed to say.”

She nodded to herself. “And they only sent the two of you. Seems rather dangerous. You agreed to this?”

“It’ll be worth it if we can pull it off.” His breath lodged in his throat, caught on warring instincts as he scrounged for something more to say. None of the social rules he’d constructed for himself applied here. He didn’t have a schematic for any of this.

“And if you can’t?” she asked.

His shoulders dropped. “Then it was worth trying.”

Her eyebrows rose with something like respect.

Phillip caught himself whistling “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” as they continued on. But it was at once too quiet and too loud in the vast emptiness of the forests around them. The sharp crunch of leaves trampled beneath five pairs of feet. The question of what in the hell they’d all gotten themselves into.

Finally Hallenberg emerged, a smaller hamlet curled up next to the forest alongside a dismal creek. Half-timbered Bavarian buildings clustered around a picturesque central square complete with a fountain, currently dry. Few lights sketched the shapes of curtained windows; the streetlights were dark husks against the starry sky. Probably just a precautionary measure against potential air raids. But there was an optimal volume of activity they needed to disguise themselves, and this fell on the side of too sparse.

“We head for the church,” Simone said. “Act like you’re supposed to be here.”

The “church” turned out to be Himmel Kino, an old sanctuary converted into a movie theater, the marquee out front dark where it jutted from a plain whitewash-and-slate façade. They huddled beneath the entry, but the carved wooden doors had been locked. No showings tonight, Phillip supposed. With one hand on her rifle, Simone made five quick little knocks.

Nothing happened.

Dogs barked in the distance, the frantic, anxious noise of a pack eager to attack, then died down. Pigeons cooed down at them from where they’d nested in the eaves of the marquee. The air smelled smoky and stale, like fireplaces stoked to life for the first time after their summer rest.

Finally, there was a slow, dragging sound on the other side of the wooden door, then the clatter of chains being unwrapped. Liam shifted his weight impatiently at Phillip’s side. Phillip couldn’t blame him, with a wound like that. He was in for a rough night trying to patch himself up.

Was it the shadows under the marquee, or was Liam’s face now edged in black? It looked like black veins shooting from his eyes. Phillip looked closer, eyebrows drawn down, but the illusion shattered. He must have imagined it.