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Otto lifted his brows and glanced toward Gustaf.

“Well, while you’re being so forthcoming.

..did you or did you not then threaten the rector of the Sorbonne with physical harm if he didn’t agree to dismiss a female professor, despite the fact that you had no jurisdiction in the university system which was in fact, even then, being shut down, rendering your threat moot?

Did you or did you not find her at her flat and destroy her property without filing any official cause for suspicion? ”

This time he said nothing, and she could imagine the ticking of the muscle in his jaw. Saw the way Gustaf, standing in profile, glared at him.

Kraus cleared his throat. Took a half step forward.

“If I may, generals...I was not at the university. But the professor in question lives next door to the Library of Burned Books. I heard the crashes as he ransacked her apartment, and when I went up to investigate, I found him there. Alone. He had no soldiers with him, which he ought to have if it were a proper investigation.”

“Oberstleutnant?” Otto snapped.

Ackermann’s chin lifted. “I am not ashamed of my actions. The woman in question is of questionable ideology, and I had reason to believe she was hiding this coward.” He shot a glare at Christian.

“Soldat? You were Bauer’s aide. Is Ackermann right to think they have such a connection?”

Kraus shook his head. “Not that I ever witnessed, sirs.”

One of the other men on the tribunal had been flipping through papers and leaned forward now, his eyes still upon the page. “Kraus—you are listed by Ackermann as one of his primary sources that led him to doubt Bauer to begin with. Were you reporting your superior’s behavior to him?”

“I...” Kraus sagged. “Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because...because Oberstleutnant Ackermann did not trust a nonmilitary man to hold such a position. He asked me to keep him apprised as to how Bauer handled it.”

The questioner frowned, leveling it at Ackermann. “You do not trust the decisions of Goebbels?”

Ackermann’s shoulders edged back. He made no reply.

The man turned toward the generals. “That, I think, is the key problem here. Peter Ackermann does not trust the chain of command or the authority duly given to our sonderführers . He is therefore overly suspicious and too quick to overstep the bounds of his own authority.”

“I have overstepped nothing! I have witnesses ready to testify that Bauer deserved—”

“We have already read the reports of the soldats present the night Bauer was shot,” Otto said.

“Nothing in their testimony provided an excuse for shooting a duly appointed agent of the Ministry of Propaganda without an inquest or trial. You are a soldier, not a judge of your fellow Germans. And it is not befitting an officer to shoot his own, nor to act as a savage with a woman who has spurned your advances. And as you have admitted to the actions, this hearing will move to the sentencing phase.”

Carl-Heinrich leaned forward. “One moment.”

Otto lifted his brows. “Yes?”

The younger general’s lips played at a smile. “I am curious. It is rare that we have standing side by side two men who admitted to such things as you two have, clear enemies. If you don’t mind, Otto, I’d like to pose a question to each of them, before we make our decisions.”

Otto waved a hand. “It’s the holidays. Have whatever you like, Carl.”

Carl-Heinrich rested his elbow on the table. He looked first to Ackermann. “Two months ago, you deemed this man worthy of death and shot him for his dissent. Yet here he stands, despite your actions. What do you think we ought to do with him, sir, given his confessions before us today?”

Ackermann didn’t let even a second pass.

“Death penalty, General. You cannot let a man with his opinions walk free. He is a menace to our society and will demoralize our soldiers if they hear him say such things. Or if you are feeling merciful, given the holidays, then a prison camp. At least there, he can only lead astray other prisoners and not our men.”

“I see.” Carl-Heinrich moved his gaze to Christian. “And what of you? What do you think Ackermann’s punishment ought to be?”

Christian’s shoulders moved as he drew in a long breath. Corinne held hers until his voice rang out, steady and even. “Mercy.”

Her breath caught. She’d expected him to demand justice—wasn’t that the whole point of turning himself in? To remove Ackermann from Paris? Remove the threat he posed to her and Felix?

The general’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Really. You don’t want him dead? Sent to a prison camp?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because a man cannot change after he is dead. And no man deserves the conditions of those camps.”

The cousins exchanged a glance. The younger looked to Christian again. “What, exactly, do you think mercy would look like in this case, where justice must also be served?”

A pause, and she could imagine the contemplation in his eyes.

The way the blue would go darker as his brows furrowed, how his glasses would glint in the light, obscuring them.

“Reassignment. Perhaps to a division where he would serve under a firm, well-grounded commanding officer. Somewhere away from Paris and the civilian woman he has targeted.”

“And demotion? Would that be merciful?”

Ackermann growled.

Christian shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. I would leave that to your wisdom. My primary concern would be to remove him from the particular people he has offended and pray that in different environs, he would find the strength of character to build up instead of tear down.”

“You are an optimist, aren’t you?” Otto leaned forward again.

“Well, I don’t know where my cousin was going with this, but the path seems clear to me.

You are both valuable assets to Germany.

Ackermann, before you climbed the ranks, you were an excellent soldier with a pristine record.

Power, however, doesn’t seem to have settled well on your shoulders, according to your file and the testimony we have heard today.

I recommend to the assembly a demotion and immediate relocation to Poland.

I have a friend there from whom I think he could learn much. ”

Ackermann didn’t dare to protest. Not when each of the other men at the table said, “Agreed” one after another.

“As for our professor who has returned from the dead...” Otto frowned.

“I can respect a man who doesn’t deny his beliefs, even when he knows well they have fallen out of favor.

I respect your bravery, especially, in presenting yourself before us today—and in the presence of the man who tried to kill you, no less.

In light of your own pristine record, Professor, and how highly your aide has spoken of you in his deposition, how highly Gustaf has spoken of you in his—I am inclined to extend to you your own mercy.

A decrease in pay grade, since demotion is a bit odd for a sonderführer , and a reassignment to.

..Greece? I daresay your expertise would be welcome in Athens, and—no offense—it doesn’t seem you’d be any help at all in combat.

Best to keep you somewhere you can do some good. Gentlemen?”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

Corinne had to press a hand to her lips to hold back the gasp, the sob. She’d known that, whatever their decision, he’d be taken from her. But he would live . And not be forced to fight.

He would live. He would live. He would live.

And he’d come back to her.

The air was still cold. But the sun felt bright in his eyes, warm on his skin as Christian stepped back out onto the street.

He wouldn’t have freedom, not as long as he was in Paris—they’d made that very clear.

He would be escorted to a hotel room. He would be escorted to a train.

Escorted to Greece. Escorted to whatever new quarters they would give him there.

He would be on probation, his new superior keeping a close eye on his every word and action.

But he was so much freer than he’d dared to hope. They wouldn’t force a gun into his hands. They wouldn’t send him to a prison camp.

Kraus strode beside him on one side, Gustaf on the other. Not exactly the guards he’d expected, but Ackermann had been the only one to object, and he’d been dragged off in a different direction soon enough. Christian breathed in the sunshine and breathed out a prayer.

They would be safe. Corinne, Felix, Georges. They would be safe .

“Sir? Sir!”

Liana? They all paused at the familiar voice, turning.

Liana jogged forward, a beret in her hands, which she waved above her head.

“This just fell out of your pocket, sir. Thought you’d want it.

” She shoved it toward Christian’s chest—and added a dubious look.

“Though if you want my advice, if you’re looking for a souvenir of Paris, a nice miniature of the Eiffel Tower would suit you better. ”

He breathed a laugh and folded the felt into his palm. “Indeed.”

She sent a wink to Kraus—just daring him to question her—gave a cheeky grin to Gustaf, and flew away again like a leaf on the breeze.

Kraus held his tongue. Gustaf shrugged.

Christian felt the crinkle of paper in the folds of fabric. He knew what it was, because Georges had promised he’d get it to him, somehow, if he lived. An address where he could write to Corinne, and give her an address to write to him, too.

Because he wouldn’t be a prisoner, wouldn’t be dead. He’d still be a soldier—and soldiers could get post.

What took him aback was when they turned a corner and Hugo Moreau darted toward them, his hand lifted too. “Ah, Monsieur Bauer! Good, good, I was hoping I would catch you. I have your watch repaired, good as new.”

He held out a box—a Cartier box.

Christian blinked at it. At him. And reached to take it. “I...thank you.”

“And I added the inscription you requested—if you’d like to check it?”

The only watch he’d ever worn—a respectable timepiece on a leather band, a gift from his parents on his graduation—was the one that had died when he was shot.

A far cry from the silver watch that glinted up at him from the box, its value gleaming with every nook and cranny.

He pulled it out, turned it to examine the back of the face.

There, in tiny script, were the words, It is always the right time to love you.

He smiled and slid it onto his wrist. The fit was perfect. “Thank you, monsieur .” Because he knew well that while the inscription was from Corinne, the watch itself had to have been a gift from the Moreaux. Perhaps it, like Corinne’s wedding dress, had been a castoff of a disgruntled aristocrat.

Either way, it was a message he knew would get him through the years to come.

As would the vision that met him at the next corner. Corinne, standing with Georges, as if they were simply going about their business. She walked toward him, all fearlessness and beauty—and with mischief in her eyes.

“Dr. Bastien!” Gustaf waved to her, and then at him. “Look! We’ve been given a miracle—Bauer lives!”

Perhaps, to their eyes, her smile would look casual. Perhaps, to their eyes, the hand she reached out toward him as they neared would be what any acquaintance would offer another who’d just been returned from the dead.

Perhaps, to their eyes, when she leaned up to kiss his cheeks, she looked like any other Parisienne, offering a warm greeting.

But he saw the love in her smile. Felt it in her fingers. And soaked it in from her lips.

“I can,” she whispered into his ear, too quietly for his companions to hear. “I can, I can, I can.”

She pressed a book into his palms—a small tome. Innocuous. Innocent. Approved.

But his lips quirked up when he peeked beneath the cover. Something very different rested inside. Poetry, by Josef Horowitz.

With pencil markings in the margins.