“I was just staring at them lying there,” he rasps. “Till a voice shook me out of it. All loud and sweet-like, Ziegler was inviting Evelien out into the courtyard.” Arie’s gaze jumps to mine, and I realize I’ve gasped. “The bastard, cool as can be, asks me: ‘What is she worth to you?’”

The depth of such cruelty is too enormous to fully digest.

“So I did it,” he says. “I told that sadistic Kraut I’d do anything, give up anything, if he’d just let her go.” Hatred seethes through Arie’s voice, threaded with something else. A note resembling shame.

I fail to see how anyone with even a scrap of humanity could possibly blame him. And yet…paired with his evident release, his alleged wrongdoings suggest a troubling scenario. But to what length?

“Arie,” I venture softly, tentative, “what sort of deal did you make?”

He squares his shoulders, an instant defense. “I could see it in his eyes, all right? The man liked toying with people. He didn’t have to bring my family there, and after he did, he could’ve killed Evelien with them. It was a game.”

I ask, despite being afraid to, “Which means?”

“It means,” he says, “I played along. Upped the stakes till he agreed to keep Evelien safe—no prison, no camps. And if I came through, he’d let us flee the country with ID, travel papers, and all.”

I’m dumbfounded. “He actually said that?”

“Sure. And I pretended it wasn’t a bare-faced lie.”

It’s a logical take, though my thoughts and emotions are positively brimming. As moisture dissipates from my eyes, same as his, I find my way back to my question. “What was the compromise?”

“For one thing…I convinced him that when I connected with my main contact, it’d look suspicious to show up with nothing. My case of weapons wasn’t an option—obviously. But I did get to keep half the money I brought and some ration coupons and maps to pass along.”

A fine feat, considering. But these benefits, I notice, are all one-sided. I nudge again, “You haven’t said what you promised in return.”

He hesitates, and that hesitation makes painfully clear he’s indeed been skirting the answer. My grip tightens on his flask as I wait.

“Intel,” he admits at last. “Supplies. Resistance plans.” Then adds, “To give up the leaders of several cells.”

I stare at him, shaken. “You did all that?”

“It was a bluff, Fen. It was meant as a bluff.”

I must have a reaction to the word meant, because he leans toward me, saying, “Just hear me out. I needed credibility. Mixing truth with lies, I had to keep feeding Ziegler with something.”

“Like…?”