The spring thaw arrived late the following year

Snow melted reluctantly, revealing the scars the war had carved into the city—cracked stone, empty windows, streets that seemed to sigh under the weight of memory. Emma’s hair had grown longer again; she kept it tied back as she walked from her small apartment to St. Alden Hospital each morning.

Peace had returned on paper. In real life, peace was a long, stumbling process.

But the hospital had survived.

New beds.
Painted walls.
Clean sheets.

And yet, sometimes, when Emma stood near the east window, she almost expected to see Thomas walking through the door with his red hair catching the light.

He never did.

The photograph he gave her stayed in a wooden box under her cot. Sometimes she took it out at night and stared at it—not because of the woman in the picture, but because of him.

Because of what that gesture meant.

She still didn’t know why she kept it.
Maybe because hope was a hard habit to break.

One morning, as she was distributing charts at the nurse’s desk, the new head physician, Dr. Kirsch, called her over.

“Fraulein Weiss,” he said. “You have a visitor.”

Emma froze.

“Who?”

The doctor glanced toward the entrance. “He didn’t give a name. Says he needs to speak with you privately.”

Visitors were unusual. Emma felt heat rise in her chest as she walked slowly toward the main corridor.

When she reached the doorway, a man stood silhouetted against the sunlight.

Not Thomas.

Her breath loosened—and tightened again.

It was a soldier, yes.
But not American.

A German soldier.

Or what used to be one.

His uniform was faded and patched. He held his cap in both hands, wringing it between his fingers. Hair overgrown, face hollowed by hunger.

And then Emma recognized him.

“Franz?”

Her knees went weak.

Her brother lifted his head, eyes filling with disbelief.

“Emma…”

They collided in an embrace so sudden and fierce that it nearly knocked them both off balance. Emma clung to him the way drowning people cling to air. She felt bones, shivers, the tremor of someone who had been running for too long.

“You’re alive,” she whispered, over and over. “You’re alive.”

Franz buried his face in her shoulder.
“I tried to get home sooner,” he said hoarsely. “But… things happened.”

He pulled back, shame flickering across his face.

Emma wiped her eyes. “Come with me. You need food. A place to rest. You’re safe now.”

But Franz didn’t move.

“Emma… I didn’t come only to see you.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He glanced over his shoulder, checking the hallway.

“I came because I’m being hunted.”

Emma’s breath froze.

“Hunted? By whom?”

Franz swallowed.
“By people on both sides. Germans… and Americans.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It will,” he said quietly. “But not here.”

He looked around anxiously. Emma hadn’t seen that look on his face since they were children hiding during thunderstorms.

She guided him into a small disused office. The room smelled of dust and antiseptic. Franz sank into a chair, hands shaking.

“Start from the beginning,” Emma said.

Franz nodded slowly.

“After my unit was hit two years ago, I was taken captive,” he said. “By the Americans.”

Emma stiffened.

Franz raised his hands. “They didn’t hurt me, Emma. Not physically. I was treated… better than I expected.”

“What happened then?”

“I was transferred to a temporary camp. One night, a group of officers questioned me—not about military plans or troop movements. About scientists. Engineers. Names I didn’t know.”

Emma frowned. “Why scientists?”

Franz exhaled. “Because they were choosing who to keep. Who had knowledge worth saving.”

A chill traveled down Emma’s spine.

She had heard rumors—about Operation Paperclip, about Allied forces scrambling to seize German scientists before the Soviets did. She thought they were propaganda.

Apparently they were not.

“I wasn’t useful to them,” Franz continued. “I was just a foot soldier. But I… witnessed something. Something they didn’t want anyone to see.”

Emma’s pulse quickened. “What did you see?”

Franz hesitated, then whispered:

“A transfer of prisoners. Germans—engineers, doctors. Not to camps. To American offices. They weren’t prisoners anymore; they were assets.”

Emma felt sick.

Franz shut his eyes. “I shouldn’t have been there. A clerk made a mistake with my file. They thought I was someone else for a few hours. Long enough to hear everything. When they realized the mistake, they moved me. After that, things changed. I was watched. Followed. But eventually I escaped during transport.”

Emma pressed her hand to her mouth.

“You escaped from American custody?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why they’re after you.”

Franz nodded. “And the Germans… if they find out what I heard, they’ll kill me for treason.”

Emma’s head spun.
Her brother, alive.
And in danger.

And the danger did not stop there.

“Emma,” Franz whispered, “there’s one more thing.”

Her stomach knotted. “What?”

Franz leaned closer.

“One of the Americans in that room… was the red-haired soldier who used to visit you.”

Emma’s heart slammed into her ribs.

“Thomas?”

Franz nodded.

“I didn’t know his name until I heard the others speak it. Lieutenant Thomas Reid.”

Emma felt the world tilt.

“You’re sure?”

“I will never forget his face,” Franz said. “He saw me. He looked right at me. And he said my name as if he already knew it.”

Emma’s thoughts spiraled.

Thomas was involved in secret prisoner transfers?
He knew Franz’s name?
He had been reassigned suddenly—had he been punished? Hidden? Promoted?

Or was he part of something darker?

Emma pushed the questions aside and grabbed Franz’s hand.

“You need to stay here,” she said. “I’ll talk to Dr. Kirsch. We’ll hide you until—”

“No.” Franz pulled away. “If the Americans search the hospital, they’ll find me. You mustn’t risk yourself.”

“I won’t lose you again,” Emma whispered fiercely.

Franz’s eyes softened.

“You won’t,” he said. “But Emma, listen. Thomas Reid… he wasn’t like the others. When he saw me, he looked—afraid. Not of me. For me.”

Emma felt a tremor pass through her.

Franz continued:

“I think he tried to help. That night, a guard left my cell door unsecured for twenty seconds. Exactly twenty. I escaped through that gap. Someone planned it. Someone familiar with the patrol schedule.”

Emma’s breath hitched.

“You think Thomas freed you?”

Franz nodded.

“And now he’s in danger too,” he said. “If they find out.”

Emma’s chest tightened painfully.

Thomas had saved her brother?

All these months—while she mourned him—he had been risking his life?

She gripped the edge of the desk.

“Franz… where is he now?”

“I don’t know,” Franz said. “But someone told me he was reassigned after a disciplinary hearing. His file vanished. Men with vanished files usually… disappear.”

Emma couldn’t breathe.

Thomas.
Gone.
And perhaps because he tried to do the right thing.

She forced her voice steady.

“Franz, you’re staying with me tonight. We’ll figure out a plan tomorrow.”

Her brother started to protest, but she silenced him with a firm look.

“You are my brother,” she said. “And you are not running alone anymore.”

Franz swallowed hard and nodded.

That night, Emma barely slept. Thoughts fragmented: Thomas adjusting blankets; Thomas giving her the photograph; Thomas saying he hoped the world would one day stop making people survive each other.

Had he been speaking about Franz?

About himself?

Near dawn, she rose silently and lit a candle. She opened the wooden box and took out the photograph Thomas had given her.

The woman’s smile.
The flowers behind her.
Thomas’s careful handwriting on the back:
June, 1942. Before the storm.

Emma traced the words with her finger.

Then she noticed something she had never paid attention to before—
a faint embossed seal on the corner of the photo paper.

A military seal.

American.

Her pulse quickened.

Why would a personal photograph have an American military seal?

Unless it had been reviewed.
Filed.
Processed.

Thomas hadn’t simply carried a reminder of his past.

Someone had cataloged it.

Someone had used it.

Photographs sometimes weren’t memories.
Sometimes they were evidence.

Emma closed her eyes.

There was only one place in the city where American files were kept.

The provisional command building across the river.

And if Thomas’s file still existed…
his fate might still be decipherable.

Part of her knew it was madness to even consider going there.

But another part—stronger, sharper—refused to lose a second person she cared about.

She folded the photograph carefully and tucked it into her apron.

Before she could leave, Franz grabbed her wrist.

“Where are you going?”

Emma took a breath. “To find out what happened to him.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“So is everything now,” she said.

Franz looked at her for a long moment.

“Emma,” he whispered, “be careful. In war, it’s not the enemies who destroy you. It’s the secrets.”

Emma nodded.

“I know.”

The river was still half-frozen when Emma crossed the old stone bridge. The morning mist clung low, swallowing the edges of buildings until they looked like ghosts.

American guards stood outside the command building, rifles slung carelessly but eyes sharp.

Emma approached slowly, hands trembling inside her coat.

One guard stepped forward.

“Halt. State your business.”

Emma lifted her chin.

“I’m here for medical documentation,” she said in accented English. “For St. Alden Hospital. I was told records for transferred soldiers might be here.”

The guard narrowed his eyes.

“What kind of records?”

“Identification. Health records. File updates.”

The guard exchanged a glance with his partner.

Finally, he said, “Follow me.”

Emma’s heart hammered.

She entered the building.

Cold.
Dim.
Metal filing cabinets lining the hallway like silent sentinels.

The guard gestured toward a desk piled with paperwork.

“Wait here.”

Emma nodded, palms sweating.

Minutes crawled by.

Finally, the guard returned.

“What soldier?” he asked.

Emma’s breath caught.

“Lieutenant Thomas Reid.”

The guard paused.
His expression changed.

Something flickered behind his eyes—unease, recognition, caution.

“You’re not authorized to access that file,” he said flatly.

Emma’s stomach twisted.

“So the file exists,” she said quietly.

The guard stiffened.
“That’s not what I said.”

“But it does,” Emma whispered. “Doesn’t it?”

The guard’s jaw tightened. He leaned forward.

“Ma’am… if I were you, I’d forget that name. And walk away.”

Emma felt cold seep through her bones.

“What happened to him?”

“Walk. Away.”

But Emma did not move.

She reached slowly into her apron and showed him the photograph—just the corner, just enough for him to see the seal.

His face drained of color.

“Where did you get that?”

Emma swallowed.

“From him.”

The guard stared at her long and hard.

Then he turned, locked the door to the hallway, and whispered:

“His file didn’t disappear because of discipline.”

Emma felt her pulse spike.

“It disappeared because someone classified it.”

“Classified why?”

The guard licked his lips nervously.

“Because the lieutenant… refused an order.”

“What order?”

The guard looked around anxiously.

“To transfer a civilian prisoner without documentation.”

Emma’s throat tightened.
“Franz.”

The guard closed his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Where is Thomas now?” she whispered.

The guard hesitated for a long time.

Then finally:

“There’s one place officers go when their files disappear.”
He lowered his voice.
“A remote detention facility on the outskirts. No official name. People call it ‘the Quarry.’”

Emma felt her vision blur with shock.

Thomas.
Detained.
For freeing her brother.

“Can I see him?” she breathed.

The guard shook his head sharply.

“No. They won’t let civilians near it.”

“But if he’s there—”

“Ma’am,” the guard whispered urgently, “if they realize you’re connected to him, you’ll be detained too.”

Emma stepped back, chest tight, heart pounding.

The guard opened the door.

“Leave now,” he said. “And don’t come back. I never saw you.”

Emma forced her legs to move. She stumbled outside, gripping the photograph so tightly the edges cut into her fingers.

Across the river, the sun struggled through clouds.