I faltered. Tell her nothing, a voice inside said. Revealing the truth would only destroy her. What harm was there, really, in allowing her to keep hope? But I had never been any good at keeping secrets. I recalled the long, excruciating months when my father was missing at the front, before we had known his fate. Hope had been almost crueler than grief. I took a deep breath.

Then I stopped. I couldn’t do it.

I tried to tell Sadie that her mother had died. But the words stuck in my throat. Her mother had been the very last part of her world, the thing that had kept her going. Now I had to take that last bit of family away from her. I remembered how I felt the night I learned my father was killed, like there was no one left. I would be doing the same thing to Sadie, under circumstances a million times worse. I would be taking away her very last hope, her reason to live. It was, quite literally, signing her death sentence.

What was the harm, really, in letting her cling to hope for a few more days? Perhaps I could even search further for Sadie’s baby sister. Even as I thought that, I knew it was futile. But it gave me hope—and a reason not to tell her just yet.

“Nothing so far.” The lie came out before I could stop myself.

Sadie’s face fell. “I can’t go back without her.”

“Sadie, you must. Think of Saul and his family. I will keep looking,” I added quickly. “But I can’t ask too many questions without drawing attention. Now you must come quickly. We have to get you back to the sewer.

“Thank you,” I said to Kara before starting up the ladder. “If you hear from Krys...” Then I hesitated. I had already left him a note. “Tell him I’ll do it. I’ll help, whatever he needs.” We had only this moment. Refusing to help wasn’t going to keep us safe any more than fleeing and hiding had saved Sadie’s mother and sister. Kara nodded gravely.

I led Sadie through the backstreets of Dębniki, not wanting her odd appearance to attract attention. We walked in silence. Every step was like lead to me. I needed to tell Sadie the truth before we parted and she went back underground. I should have told her back at the bar, I realized. What if she lost her composure here on the street, made a scene and cried out? At last we reached the grate by the river. She reached down for the stone that had caused the grate to stick, pried it open.

“My mother,” she said. “You’ll keep looking?”

“I promise.” The lie broke my heart. I wondered once again if I should tell her the truth. But if I did, she might not go back into hiding—or be able to go on at all.

“Check our old neighborhood, as well as the ghetto,” she said, trying to think of all of the places her mother might have gone.