As I took in her expression, though, I knew nothing could be further from the truth.

“The sewer is no longer safe. I need all of you to come with me at once.”

23

Ella

After Krys put the munitions into the sewer and we left the grate, I returned home. I lay awake all night, imagining the awful things that might happen. I never should have let Sadie say yes, I berated myself. I saw her face, timid yet resolved to help however she could. Neither she nor Saul were equipped for what Krys had asked them to do for the Home Army. In ordinary circumstances, it would not be all that difficult to store a few boxes overnight. But nothing about Sadie’s existence was ordinary; there were at least a half-dozen ways it could all go horribly wrong and each played over in my head like a bad dream I could not escape.

The next morning, I slipped from the house before dawn, too restless and worried to wait any longer. I needed to check on Sadie and make sure she was all right. The August morning air was warm and clammy as I made my way across the deserted bridge. I went to the grate first, but of course Sadie was not there at such an early hour. I could not see anything below. From there I went to Dębniki. The café was shuttered and locked and the cellar doors to the piwnica were, too. I even went up to the room on the top floor where Krys sometimes stayed, but it was deserted. When I pushed open the unlocked door and peered into the bare space, it looked as if no one had ever been there, that night or ever.

My anxiousness rose. I could find no one, nor find out what had happened. Defeated, I started back toward the city center. I would have to wait hours until my scheduled meeting time with Sadie. After everything that had happened, I didn’t even know if she would still come. I reached our house on Kanonicza Street and stepped inside, hoping to slip through the foyer and skip breakfast. I couldn’t bear to sit across from Ana Lucia and make conversation. But when I passed the dining room, it was surprisingly still, the table cleared. I did not hear Hanna in the kitchen either. I wondered if my stepmother had already eaten or not come down yet. Perhaps she was not home at all. I started up the stairs.

As I neared the fourth floor, I heard a rustling from above. My uneasiness grew. Someone was in the garret.

“Hello?” I called. I prayed that it was Hanna, tidying up. But the footsteps were too heavy, the sound of the movements deliberate.

Ana Lucia appeared in the doorway to my bedroom, red-cheeked and winded, as if from a great climb. Her face bore a triumphant expression.

“What is this?” she demanded.

In her hand, she held Sadie’s necklace.