The whispers of daily gossip fill the crowded halls as students fumble to grab their things from the hooks hanging from the walls—some accidentally knocking others' coats to the floor, not even bothering to pick them up.

  Today makes 488.

  It's been that many days since the war first started. I've been keeping count since the day my mom and I first heard the news on the radio, determined never to forget.

  To the kids at this school, however, time never seems to pass at all. It's funny... how that works.

  I reach for my coat and gloves, which are hanging neatly on the hook. As I put them on, I look down to touch the round, leather collar biting into the back of my neck. Ever since last night, I have been holding onto it everywhere I go in case I ever happen to reencounter its owner, wherever he may be.

  My mind drifts to last night. I can still feel the nightly breeze sending goosebumps down my arms as I tugged through the snow and found my way back home.

  Pulling my coat tight, I turn to Gabriel, who stands directly beside me, as he too removes his things from the hook. After wrapping the jacket around his shoulders, he turns to me with a smile.

  "The three principles must have gotten to your head, huh?" he asks playfully.

  Distracted, I tilt my head a little. "I'm sorry, what?"

  Raising an eyebrow, he takes a few steps closer as he repeats the words, "Skate. Pass. And...?"

  "—Shoot. I remember, I remember..." God, it's almost as if the words are drilled into my head now.

  Gabriel laughs. "Well, it helped, didn't it?"

  Before setting off for his game, Gabriel felt bad that I couldn't play, and made me rehearse these three words over and over again before repeating them in my head, as I had no clue how to even play the game before last night.

  "Not as much as a pair of ice skates would have..." I reply in a dry voice, avoiding any eye contact.

  Gabriel must notice my distracted state as he leans in to say, "Look, if this is about the incident with the teacher, I—"

  "No, no, it's not that." I take a deep breath and look up at him.

  "Last night... when I was walking through the woods..." My voice falters for a moment.

  "I heard yelling. Far off, but... close enough to make my heart pound. I stopped and listened, and then... I heard it—the howl of an animal. And there were shouts. Two German soldiers, I think... chasing it."

  Gabriel's brow furrows. "Chasing it?"

  "Yeah." I shiver at the memory. "I followed the sound, and... I found it. A Husky. It was bleeding, lying there in the snow. I—"

  My fingers twitch as if brushing the wound, "I tried to fix it. I didn't know what else to do. I cleaned the cut, wiped it the best I could... and then..."

  My voice drops. "It ran off. Just like that. Into the night."

  Gabriel stays silent for a moment, letting it sink in. I stare at the floor, the memory of the fur, the blood, and the howl still vivid.

  "I don't know if it'll be okay," I admit softly.

  Gabriel scans the now-empty hall for any students that may be listening before leaning close and whispering, "Follow me."

  "What?" I ask, confused.

  "Just... c'mon. Trust me."

  "Um... okay?"

  Gabriel leads me through the schoolyard and down the street until we stand directly in front of a giant mound of snow slightly off the main road.

  I watch in awe as Gabriel so swiftly claws his way up, using his hands and nails to grab hold of the icy surface to keep balance.

  After reaching the very top, he then motions for me to do the same.

  Swallowing hard, I hesitantly place my foot over a step of snow, attempting to emulate his every move.

  Please don't fall, don't fall, I repeat to myself as I carefully climb another chunk of snow, terrified at the thought of embarrassing myself in front of Gabriel.

  With each step, I hear the crunching of snow yield from underfoot, the mound of snow shifting slightly as I dig my fingernails deeper into the frigid ice for fear of falling off.

  I clench my eyes in pain as the ice cuts through my fingers like a thousand paper cuts opening all at once, when suddenly, I hear Gabriel yell "Grab hold!" from above.

  I open my eyes to see Gabriel reaching his hand out to me.

  I forcefully pull my now frozen fingers from the icy walls and stretch my arm out to him.

  Gabriel heaves me up, our frosty hands conflicting with one another as we stand, wheezing, upon the mound's ridged surface.

  Gabriel laughs.

  The evening breeze rushes through our hair beneath the late periwinkle sky as we now overlook rows of falling apart shacks in what is known as the "far edge of town."

  Why would Gabriel take me here?

  I arch a brow as I watch him slide over the edge, bumping upon any small pebbles or uneven chunks of snow that may be in his path before slamming face-first into the drift at the bottom.

  Brushing off the snow from his coat, Gabriel laughs and waves me over.

  Carefully, I plop myself down upon the edges, my legs stretched out in front of me as I notice the tiny obstacles lying directly in my path.

  I can already tell it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

  Without a second thought, I take off down the uneven slope, my stomach lifting, my hands scrabbling in the snow.

  The world itself seems to rush past me as I embrace the sharp gust of wind slapping against my cheeks, and suddenly, I feel like I'm little again.

  Unable to stop myself, however, I tumble down into the snow, which, surprisingly, is a lot harder than it looks.

  Even still, sliding down was a lot more fun than climbing up.

  Lifting myself on my feet, I find Gabriel already carrying on without me.

  I quickly brush the snow off my clothes and catch up with him.

  Trudging our way through the neighborhood, Gabriel comes to an abrupt stop as we stand facing an old, abandoned garage, cut off a little from the other houses.

  Gabriel walks over to the dented corrugated metal door, and all of a sudden, he begins pounding on it, the loud clanging echoing throughout the otherwise sleepy neighborhood.

  Frightened, I rush over from behind Gabriel's shoulders, constantly on the lookout for any approaching figures that may come complaining.

  Suddenly, the rusted garage door swings open before our eyes with an annoying shriek, but to my surprise, no one was there.

  Gabriel smirks as we gaze into the intense darkness.

  "C'mon, pup," Gabriel instructs as he starts to walk ahead.

  "Wait!" I call out in alarm, grabbing hold of his sleeve. "D-do we have to?"

  Gabriel scoffs. "Don't tell me you're scared of garages now."

  "No!" I cry, following closely behind.

  As we enter, I can barely make out the silhouette of a shadowy figure hiding behind a massive, lumpy mountain of dusty canvas that takes up most of the room.

  I swallow hard and watch as Gabriel slowly approaches the mysterious figure.

  "Cień!" Gabriel exclaims excitedly.

  Cień... Why does that name sound familiar?

  Suddenly, the figure emerges from the shadows, slowly revealing the black hair underneath his hoodie, the thin, red scar across his left cheek, and the shady, lifeless gray eyes observing me, up and down.

  Glaring instantly at the figure, my mind drifts back to the fuzzy memory of getting pulled away from Gabriel by someone with a red scar and gray eyes.

  Thinking deeply about that night, I also recall lying next to someone in bed, and as I turn to see who it is, I gaze into the cold, gray eyes of the boy now standing a few feet away from me.

  My jaw drops in horror.

  "You took me to him??" I ask Gabriel in disbelief.

  "So," Cień begins with crossed arms, "You decided to bring your little puppy along with you after all. Unexpected, but no matter. Hmm..."

  He turns to me with a smug smile and says, "Nice to see you again, Pup. You look even cuter sober."

  Oh, God, this is awkward.

  My cheeks flush a deep red, heat creeping up my face as I quickly think on what to say that could change the subject.

  I clear my throat. "Soooo," I begin nervously, "um, what lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

  Cień and Gabriel stare, each with an eyebrow raised as if in complete confusion.

  "Lovely, peaceful, relaxing, couldy, snowy, freezing weather..." I go on, my voice getting quieter with each new meaningless detail I choose to add, until I silence myself completely.

  "Interesting..." Cień murmurs to himself, looking me over.

  "Well, don't you worry. We're here on business, not pleasure."

  He turns to face the large mountain of sheets covering the center of the room.

  "Gabriel assured me you'd be useful," Cień begins, his voice sharp, "So you know your way around machinery then?"

  "Uh..." I look over at Gabriel, only to find him boring into my eyes.

  "I mean, I've changed the oil out of my mom's car before."

  Cień glances over my hands and clothes before skeptically responding, "We'll see."

  Suddenly, he removes the stained sheets, kicking up a layer of dust that sets off a loud sneeze into my sleeve.

  Feeling mortified beside Gabriel, I open my eyes to find a large, metal tank standing in the middle of the room.

  I gasp.

  "You want to be useful?" Cień abruptly asks, throwing me a wrench.

  "Then I suppose you'll have no problem with draining the oil of this tiger, now would ya?"

  "I don't know how to fix a tank!" I whine.

  "I'm not asking you to fix it, I'm asking you to check the oil," Cień explains.

  "If you changed the oil from your mama's car as you said, it should prove to be no challenge for you."

  "B-but—"

  Before I can make out the words, Cień motions Gabriel over to where he stands at a little corner at the edge of the room, leaving me with the impossible task of locating the engine in this enormous monster in front of me.

  I've never stood this close to a war vehicle before.

  The very sight of it makes me feel uneasy.

  How did it even get here?

  Curiously, I circle around the tank's metal body, observing each component carefully, and for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to ride one of these things.

  I kneel down to look under the round rollers supporting the tank to check if the engine is down there.

  All I find are loose springs and joints.

  Why did the fellow who designed these things have to make them so complicated?

  I lift myself up and check every inch of the vehicle until I stumble upon a rectangular-shaped panel at the rear end.

  Tracing my hands against its sticky surface, I feel for seven or eight bolts threaded into the steel frame.

  Using the wench, I begin to carefully twist the heavy bolts until they loosen and come free.

  Only, no matter how hard I turn, they don't budge.

  I sigh.

  After several attempts of careful struggle, I finally lose my patience and forcefully yank the bolt free.

  Immediately, a stream of oil slaps me across the face and leaks all over the floor as my eyes turn to horror.

  "Ugh!" I groan in frustration.

  "What kind of human lives like this?!"

  Instinctively, my gaze snaps toward Gabriel and Cień across the garage, bent close, murmuring to one another, and I can't help but notice the way Cień traces his fingers lightly along Gabriel's arm.

  I overhear bits and pieces from their conversation as I find myself staring into Gabriel's affectionate eyes, but their voices are all but muffled echoes in my mind:

  "Message not received."

  "Package never arrived."

  "Courier failed delivery."

  What could they be talking about?

  Reluctantly, I turn my attention to the loose bolt, now dripping with oil, and with the wench in hand, I try to correct my mistake by adjusting and tightening it properly, a little ways in the opposite direction, which causes the panel to stop shifting.

  After wiping the sweat dripping off my forehead, I begin to gently twist the remaining bolts until I finally completely secure the panel.

  Lying it safely upon the floor, I hunch my shoulders and crane my neck as I curiously lean inside the wide opening to get a better look at the engine.

  Immediately, the strong scent of stale oil and cold metal fills the air, making my nose sting.

  As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I am now able to make out the heavy, blocky shapes that don't resemble a car engine at all.

  I guess this must be it?

  At the bottom of the engine lies a single, thick bolt slick with oil.

  If the oil's coming out, it has to be that thing.

  It's the only bolt down there.

  Before rushing into another mistake, I look down at the pound of oil already filling the floor and decide to search the shelves for something I can use as a bucket to prevent another big mess.

  I crouch and grab a battered metal pail lying next to the shelf, wiping the dust off the rim while hoping it will catch the oil without spilling all over the floor.

  I run back to the tank with haste and place the pail directly underneath the bolt inside the panel.

  I hesitate for a moment before reaching for my wench, and fitting it onto the drain plug, bracing the pail with my foot so it doesn't tip.

  The bolt's stiff, barely budges, yet slowly but surely, it gives in a little.

  Suddenly, fear rushes over me as a thin thread of oil leaks out, only to realize that it's meant to do that.

  With a gulp, I begin to turn another small fraction as the thin thread of oil becomes a steady but slow stream.

  It's slower than I expected, but it is flowing, so I assume it's normal.

  I look down to check if the pail is collecting the oil properly.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  No spills so far.

  I sigh in relief as I rub my aching back.

  Out of all of the tasks, in all this war, why did I have to be given one so laborious?

  I watch as the leftover oil slowly drips into the metal pail with a hollow plop, followed by complete silence.

  The engine must be almost empty.

  I wait until the last drop before screwing the bolt back by hand, tightening it with the wench until it feels snug.

  In a flash, I then quickly wipe the oil off the floor.

  Pulling myself up, slick with sweat, I take a step back and look into the drained engine.

  I can't help but give a soft smile, quietly feeling pleased with myself.

  Suddenly, I hear someone behind me remark, "Busy, I see."

  I turn to find Cień and Gabriel looking over my greasy, smudged face and clothing.

  Cień raises an eyebrow, glancing at the drain plug.

  "You didn't open the filler cap," he says casually, like it's no big deal.

  "That's why it took forever, and why there's still oil trapped inside. If you want it fully drained, you've got to let it breathe first."

  I freeze, my stomach dropping.

  "But it did drain... I watched it."

  My voice cracks slightly as I gesture helplessly at the pail.

  Cień smirks, shaking his head.

  "You'll get the hang of it."

  He steps closer, and I catch the quiet way his voice changes—like he's telling Gabriel something I'm not supposed to fully understand.

  "Step one is critical. We're going to the town hall. There's an important document in the records office—troop movements, supplies, schedules. We need it."

  He pauses, letting the words settle.

  "One slip, and it could cost everything."

  "We're gonna give these Nazis a new year they won't forget!"

  "YEAH!" Gabriel shouts, punching the air.

  I stand there with my arms locked, just watching them lose it.

  Their voices are way too loud for this small room. My eyes drift from one to the other—a slow, annoyed slide—waiting for the screaming to stop finally. I don't bother to open my mouth. I just give them my flattest, most "Are you done yet?" stare.

  ***

  Cień leads us through layers of snow that cover the empty streets, our boots crunching beneath us as we pass by building after building, shop after shop, until finally, we find ourselves in the middle of the main square, facing a three-story building that serves as the town hall.

  "Remember," Cień begins, his eyes locked into mine, "act casual."

  I let out a heavy, huffy sigh and look toward the double-doored entrance of the town hall, my mouth set in a crooked line as I consider how absurd this all is.

  While Cień has his back turned to Gabriel, I begin to make my way toward the main door, when suddenly, Cień yanks me back by the arm.

  "Ow," I announce in pain. "Wha-?"

  "Not THAT door, stupid!" Cień snaps. "Just... follow my lead, and you'll be fine."

  Gabriel and I follow Cień to the back entrance, where it is less guarded, and watch as Cień peeks through the slightly cracked door for any signs of danger before motioning us over.

  With a soft click from the door behind, I turn to notice the long, narrow corridor stretching out before me, door after door lining either side.

  "There are so many!" I exclaim in shock. "How will we know which one leads to the records office?"

  Suddenly, the distant sound of laughter echoes through the drafty halls.

  "We split," Gabriel snaps, turning to me with a spark in his eye I've never seen before. "I'll check the ones at the far end. You stay with Cień. Got it?"

  He starts marching down the hallway, his boots thudding heavily upon the long, narrow rug covering the floor.

  "Gabriel..." Cień mumbles from behind, sounding almost worried about him.

  Gabriel turns halfway around, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You owe me a drink for this," he says playfully.

  He then turns back toward the direction he was going as he continues walking down the corridor, more relaxed than he was a few seconds ago.

  Cień gives a faint, rueful smile as he watches Gabriel slowly fade into the distance, leaving us in complete silence.

  With a sigh, Cień buries his face in his fluffy black hair and looks down at his feet as we linger in the hallway.

  "He cares for you very much, you know."

  My eyes widen in shock.

  "What...?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  A moment of silence.

  "You're not like the others," Cień goes on, "I can tell."

  "What... What are you talking about?"

  "Haven't you noticed the way he hides from you, the way he tightens his mask whenever you're near, the way he rants about you every second he gets?"

  His voice drops into a sharp hiss. "Or the way he leaves you with me to keep from getting in harm's way?"

  "Shut up!" I yell in outrage. "It's-it's not like that!"

  "Now you listen here, sonny!" Cień barks in a threatening tone. "You can deny who you are all you want, but just because you're his profound 'chosen one,' doesn't mean you deserve him! The pain he went through is far beyond your scope of understanding."

  "You don't know me..." I whisper under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief as tears brim in my eyes.

  I run up the door closest to me and fling it open as I storm into a tiny office consisting of a desk and a few lockers.

  As I observe the room, I catch a glimpse of a couple of wooden crates hiding under the table. I kneel over and begin searching the crates when suddenly, I hear the door close from behind.

  I turn to see Cień towering over me with his hand on the knob. Oh, great, it's only him.

  Cień starts digging through the metal lockers while I return to searching the crates. When I find nothing of importance, I pull myself up and dart toward the door.

  When I turn the knob, however, my heart immediately comes to a standstill as I stand face to face with a tall, grown man, so close that I almost step back instinctively.

  I tilt my head back to meet his gaze, his calm, gentle, brown eyes locked into mine as I observe his sturdy frame. Sharp brows, high cheekbones, and a straight nose give him the composed, striking look of a real dreamboat, while his dark hair, swept back in a razor-sharp wave, catches the office light.

  Then my focus begins to slip. My gaze slowly drops from his face to the floor as the tightness in my chest begins to feel more at ease.

  Feeling unsettled and lost in thought, my brows knit together as if something about his presence had pulled me out of the moment.

  For a brief second, I stand between the doorway quietly, no longer on edge—just uncertain.

  "Um, I'm sorry, may I slip past you for a moment?" the man asks softly. "I just have some papers to correct."

  "Oh..." I mumble, my mind drifted in a sleepy state, when suddenly, I remember what we even came here for.

  "OH!" I exclaim loudly as my eyes burst open. "Oh, but of course! I am so, SO sorry! We won't get in the way again, I promise!"

  The man laughs. "It's quite all right."

  I quickly move out of his way, and with Cień behind me, we continue down the hall, trying our best to appear as casual as possible.

  As we round a little corner to the left, someone whispers, "Psst" from over our shoulders.

  We turn to find Gabriel motioning us over with a quick curl of his fingers while leaning through one of the doorways, sticking just the upper half of his body into the hall.

  Cień and I immediately rush over to him.

  "You found it?" Cień asks suddenly.

  "I found something. I have a hunch it lies just beyond that door," Gabriel replies, pointing across the narrow entryway toward a heavy wooden door.

  Gripping his hands on the knob, Cień shifts his weight into the turn, but it ends in a dull, final thud that vibrates through the wood of the door.

  "Locked," Cień remarks under his breath.

  Tracing the texture of the wood, his hand eases down the door and lets himself sink right along with it, dropping into a seated position on the floor.

  "Keep watch for me, will ya?"

  "You know it," Gabriel says, arms crossed, with a knowing smirk as he watches Cień from behind.

  Cocking my head to the side, a doubtful look crosses my face, along with a pointedly raised eyebrow as I stare intently into Gabriel's giddy eyes, when suddenly, a soft click echoes throughout the room.

  My gaze immediately snaps toward Cień. My mouth goes dry, and my hands curl into fists at my sides.

  I blink once, then twice.

  The door... It's open.

  But how?

  My brain just can't catch up.

  Cień pulls himself up and turns to Gabriel and me, still as emotionless as usual.

  "Inside. Now."

  Cień orders as he enters the room.

  Following behind, Gabriel and I step inside a cramped, cold room consisting of tall filing cabinets with chipped paint and a single desk with a blotter, stamp, and inkwell.

  Cień folds over the desk, his hands gripping the edge, his head bowed just slightly, and something about him goes quiet.

  I watch as he pulls open the top drawer and digs for the right document. The pages crinkle softly against the wood, but to me it sounds loud—too loud.

  I hold my breath, convinced the noise will carry down the hall.

  Finally, Cień pulls out a folder and spreads it across the desk, quickly looking through each document when suddenly, he freezes over the drawer, his eyes fixed on the sheet of paper, carefully tracing the lines on the page, and for a moment, he looks almost... sad.

  "Everything's here," he whispers.

  "Finally!" Gabriel exclaims. "Let's bolt!"

  With one last look around the hall, we manage to sneak out, unnoticed, and return safety to the garage.

  ***

  After looking through the stolen document, Cień looks up at me and says in a low, earnest tone,

  "The papers we took aren't orders. They're schedules. They tell us where people won't be."

  He taps the folded document, then continues,

  "There's a clearing past the treeline—locals call it the field. According to this, it should be quiet tonight. I want to know if that's true."

  His eyes flick briefly to Gabriel, then back at me.

  "But first, I have a very special surprise for you two."

  He gestures us over and lifts the garage door open. The late evening breeze immediately rushes in, when suddenly, I spot a silhouette of what appears to be a child standing at the edge of the road in the near distance, their head tilted toward the empty streets and their hands tucked into their pockets.

  "Hey, Micha?! Get in here!" Cień yells out.

  The child flicks a glance at Cień, then back down the road, scanning the street one last time before stepping carefully to avoid crunching snow as he approaches.

  "May I introduce you... to Micha?," Cień mutters, almost sneering.

  A ten-year-old kid stands awkwardly between the gap beneath the lift door, his raven-black hair brushing his bronze-toned collar in loose waves. I firmly cross my arms over my chest as I give a skeptical look over the kid with an arched eyebrow that says, "Seriously?"

  "Now," Cień begins as he walks a short distance across the room, and explains,

  "These schedules only matter if the patrols are actually following them. Tonight, they might not."

  He pauses, dragging his thumb along his chin as if in deep thought.

  "Gabriel and I will cross their route. Not obvious. Just enough to see how they react."

  His fingers tap twice against the wall.

  "I'll watch from cover. How long they stop him Whether they ask questions...Whether they're distracted..."

  His voice drops, growing quieter with each word, like he's talking more to himself than to us.

  Then suddenly, he whips around to face me just as I'm slowly drifting to sleep.

  "There's a clearing past the treeline—locals call it the field. According to this, it should be quiet tonight. I want to know if that's true."

  He looks down at Micha?.

  "You know where."

  Micha? nods once. He looks back at me with daggers in his eyes and says,

  "He knows the ground. You'll go with the kid."

  "Wait, wait, wait, why should I go with the kid?" I protest.

  "Because YOU are still just a boy trying too hard to be a man—and Gabriel doesn't need another shadow at his heels."

  Cień snaps as he drifts past me. I freeze, my head turning slowly, almost reluctantly, to where he had taken off, my eyes widening as the words sink in like a fist to the chest. My lips part, then press together, my jaw setting as the hurt spreads across my face.

  Cień hesitates, then adds,

  "There's something else."

  His gaze flicks briefly to the door, then back to us.

  "A courier dog never made it back last night. If it went down near the field, the collar might still be there. Information travels faster than people. That collar matters."

  His eyes settle on me again.

  "You and Micha? will search the clearing. Quietly. If you find it, you bring it back. If you don't—" He exhales through his nose. "Then you tell me what you do see. Tracks. Signs. Anything that doesn't belong."

  He leans close, his cold gray eyes fixed on me.

  "Is that understood?" he asks, low in my ear, his breath brushing against my skin.

  I clench my fists, unable to look away from his eyes.

  "Sir, yes, sir!" I murmur, with as much sarcasm as I can get away with.

  The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly, as if to warn me not to push it.

  Cień steps back and faces the garage door.

  "If you're not back in twenty minutes, we assume it's compromised," he adds flatly over his shoulder. He doesn't look back as he and Gabriel move off.

  A chill goes down my spine as Cień's voice cuts deep and repeats the words,

  "Twenty minutes."

  I scowl hard, long enough for them to disappear into the cold, leaving me alone with the kid.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a pair of dark green eyes staring up at me, watching my every move. I drift my gaze toward him and force a small, gentle smile.

  "Um, hi there!" I say, offering him a tiny, tentative wave—the kind that was more of a "hope we can be friends" than a real "hello."

  He tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking from my face to my hands, as if trying to figure me out.

  "Oh, uh, I'm Daniel, by the way," I add nervously as I reach out a hand, suddenly very aware of how tall I must look to him.

  "How do you do?"

  He hesitates for a moment, but then slips his hand into mine.

  "Okay," he mutters shyly, eyes flicking away. I give a short dip of my chin with a soft nod, my gaze warming as I look into his evergreen eyes, sliding off to the side, refusing to settle. I smile warmly.

  "So... you ready?"

  Micha? nods confidently.

  "This way," he murmurs, starting toward the door.

  ***

  We leave the garage and head down the narrow street, the town dim and quiet, until the last houses linger behind us as we reach the outskirts. The forest is quiet, snow muting every sound as we walk.

  A late evening breeze stirs the branches overhead, and for a moment, everything feels oddly peaceful. I look up at the sky. It's getting dark. We had better find what we're looking for soon.

  My gaze drifts down to Micha?, and I notice the kid's warm skin against the pale winter snow. In my whole town, almost everyone is pale, other than my mother. It catches me off guard, and yet, I find it strangely striking.

  Suddenly, I realize I'm staring and look away, a bit embarrassed with myself. I clear my throat, trying to ease the tension.

  "This whole thing is all rather silly, don't you think?"

  "I don't think it's silly," he says quietly, glancing ahead, his steps sure despite his size.

  I raise an eyebrow and let out a soft chuckle.

  "Not silly, huh? Alright... I'll take your word for it."

  After a while, the only sounds from our walk are those of crunching snow and twigs crackling underfoot. I'm starting to get the impression that Micha? doesn't like me very much. I look down at my feet as we now walk in complete silence.

  Beside me, Micha? fumbles with his sleeves before finally speaking up.

  "Sooo... um... You new here?" he asks, ducking his head to let his long hair fall over his eyes.

  I let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle, shaking my head.

  "New... in this town?" I think to myself, a smile tugging at my lips.

  "I've lived here all my life," I tell him.

  "For someone who's lived here all his life... You sure don't know your way around very well," he admits.

  I laugh.

  "Yeah, well... I'm not much of an explorer, sadly."

  Micha? blinks and glances up at me, clearly surprised, then looks back at the path.

  "Oh," he says quietly, like he's turning the thought over in his head.

  The trees break apart ahead, and the forest seems to open onto a wide, frozen field.

  The field is huge and empty—so quiet that every step cracks loudly in the still air. The cold bites at our cheeks, and for a second, it feels like the only sounds in the world are our own small, crunching footsteps.

  We search the clearing in slow circles, careful not to make too much noise. I scrape snow aside with my glove, finding only dead grass and frozen dirt. Micha? sticks to the edges, checking trees and drifts like he already knows where not to look.

  I'm about to move on when something catches my eye near the tree line. A strip of cloth, stiff with ice, knotted around a low branch. It looks wrong, like someone tied it there on purpose, but I can't figure out why.

  "That's weird," I mutter to myself. I squint and frown, trying to figure it out, but the thought just won't stick.

  "Oh, well," I say with a shrug. Shoving the idea aside, I crouch down again and start brushing snow off the roots at the edge of the clearing.

  Micha? moves a few steps ahead, careful, almost silent, and I follow, matching his pace. Every crunch of snow underfoot seems impossibly loud in the empty field.

  My fingers brush against something cold and smooth near my neck under my coat, and I blink at it for a second before going back to searching. Micha? doesn't notice, or he doesn't comment, and I figure it's nothing. I dip my hands into the snow near a rock, patting around for any sign of the collar, but there's nothing obvious.

  This is hopeless, I think, but I try to sound casual anyway.

  "So, uh... how did you end up with a grouch like Cień anyway?" I ask Micha? as I shove a clump of snow aside with my hands.

  Micha? doesn't answer right away. He kneels a little further ahead, brushing snow off a patch of ground.

  "I didn't," Micha? replies vaguely.

  "Didn't what?"

  "End up with him on purpose."

  Micha? settles onto a chunk of snow and says it like it's nothing, but it doesn't sound like nothing. I catch myself watching him more closely and decide to crouch beside him.

  "You don't like him, huh?" I remark with one corner of my mouth tugged up as I glance at him.

  "No," Micha? says with a frown.

  "Then... why work with him?" I ask curiously.

  "I was already helping."

  "Helping who?"

  "Whoever needed it," Micha? explains. "The Underground, the runners, and even sometimes just families hiding someone in their basement."

  My gaze hardens without my meaning it to, as if something inside me has just shifted.

  "Cień just came along one day, and I've been kinda stuck with him ever since," Micha? continues.

  I lean forward a little, letting my gaze settle on him as I try to make sense of what he's saying.

  "Why'd you start helping in the first place?"

  "Because my brother had to go fight," Micha? says, his gaze fixed on the snow. "He was only sixteen, and they made him leave... He never came back."

  "Who made him leave?" I persist.

  "The Germans," Micha? answers under his breath. "They came to our house one day and asked him to fight for them. Doesn't matter that he didn't want to."

  He pauses, then goes on, "We later found out he didn't make it..."

  I look down at the snow, then back up, unsure where to put my eyes.

  "There was a bombing," Micha? adds. "He was there..."

  I swallow, but then reach out, resting my hands on Micha?'s arms.

  "You don't have to explain anymore if you don't want to," I say softly.

  Micha? is still under my hands. His shoulders lift once, then settle as his eyes flick up, and slowly, carefully, a tiny smile spreads across his face.

  Micha?'s smile lingers for a moment, then he looks down at the snow again and kneels, brushing at a patch with his gloved hands.

  "Come on," he murmurs, "let's see if we can find it."

  I crouch beside him, careful not to crowd him, and together we start scanning the clearing, our breath steaming in the cold air.

  After a final sweep of the snow, Micha? shakes his head.

  "Nothing."

  He stands, brushing off his coat, and I straighten up beside him. The field is empty, frozen, and silent, and I can't help feeling a little frustrated—but there's nothing more we can do here.

  "Let's go back," Micha? says quietly, turning toward the tree line.

  I follow, my boots thudding in the snow as I run to catch up with him. The clearing stretches out behind us, empty and silent. I glance back one last time, wondering if we really did miss something, but Micha?'s steady pace ahead leaves no room for doubt. I'm just along for the ride.

  The trees slowly thin as we near the outskirts of town, and I can see the garage ahead, dark but familiar against the fading sky. Micha? glances back once, giving a small nod, and I realize I've been relying on him the entire way, more than I probably should.

  ***

  We push open the garage door and step inside, only to find Gabriel and Cień impatiently waiting for us.

  "Pup!" Gabriel exclaims, his face brightening.

  "It's about time," Cień adds, leaning against a corner as if he had never left to begin with. "I was just about to consider the mission compromised."

  "What!" I cry out in disbelief. "It hasn't even been 20 minutes! Speaking of, how did you two get back so fast?"

  Cień glances at me, letting a faint smirk twitch his lips.

  "We've been doing this longer than you think. The streets tell us things the papers don't. You'll get the hang of it someday."

  He looks over at Micha?, then back at me.

  "So? Did you find the missing collar?"

  "We covered the whole area. Nothing!" Micha? replies, frustrated.

  "I... I don't know," I say after a beat. "We tried, but it's just... gone."

  Cień's gaze lingers on me just a second longer than it needs to, like he's about to say something—but then he doesn't.

  "...Alright," he says at last. "No collar then. Fine. What did you bring back?"

  Micha? hesitates for a moment.

  "We looked," he says. "There wasn't anything."

  Cień stares at us, his jaw tightening.

  "Do you know how much risk that was?" he says finally, his voice low and even. I swallow. Micha? doesn't move.

  "If you didn't find the collar," Cień continues, "you were supposed to bring back something. Anything!"

  He exhales sharply through his nose. "We don't get second chances like that!"

  "I mean—okay, so this might NOT be anything, but when we were out there, near the trees, I think I saw this strip of cloth tied to a branch, like it was on purpose or something," I confess, struggling to remember. "But I didn't really think it mattered at the time because it was just... there."

  Cień and Gabriel exchange a quick look—sharp, knowing—and just like that, the mood in the garage shifts.

  "That knot wasn't random. That's a reroute marker," Cień explains with wide eyes.

  "Um... what?" I ask, tilting my head.

  "It's how people talk without talking."

  Gabriel pitches in.

  "You leave a sign where only the right person will notice."

  Cień lets out a slow breath, rubbing his jaw as if he's already rearranging yet ANOTHER plan in his head.

  If they left a marker, it means the ground route isn't safe anymore." He gestures vaguely toward the floor.

  "Dogs move fast, but they still leave tracks. Patrols notice patterns. So we don't use the streets." His eyes flicker up toward the ceiling.

  "We go over them. Roof to roof. Chimneys, attics, back stairwells. No lights. No noise."

  He looks down at Micha? now.

  "You know the roofs."

  Then at Gabriel.

  "You know how to move without being seen."

  And finally, he turns to me.

  "You stay close. You listen."

  Gabriel runs a hand through his hair and frowns. "That's all well and good, Cień, but we still don't know where the missing courier got off to," he reminds him. "It could already be in the Nazi's hands by now, as far as we know!"

  "—Orrrr," Micha? mutters before trailing off, letting his gaze linger strangely over me, "it could be right here... in this room."

  "Where?" I ask skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

  Micha?'s hand moves to my neck without a word.

  The collar I didn't even realize I was wearing snaps open under his fingers, and I feel the weight of it lift away. I barely notice as he pulls it off completely, revealing a bundle of papers tucked inside.

  Everyone gasps.

  "My goodness!" I exclaim, covering my mouth with one hand and letting out a surprised little giggle. "Where, oh, where, did that come from, I wonder?"

  Cień, Gabriel, and Micha? all stare up at me, their eyebrows shooting up as they've just seen a ghost.

  The garage falls completely silent. All of them are watching me, every eye fixed, and not a single eye blinking.

  "Ha... heh," I chuckle awkwardly, leaning back slightly. I'm smiling, but my stomach twists—I can tell by the way they're looking at me that they think I know more than I'm letting on.

  "Guys, you can't possibly think—" I say, trying to sound confident, but their stares get sharper by the second.

  "It's—it's not looks like it!" I let out with a squeak. I didn't even know it was there, I was just trying to help, I swear, and now you're all staring at me like I'm some kind of thief, and—GABRIEL, TELL THEM IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!"

  Gabriel clears his throat and turns to Cień.

  "Uh, well, he DID mention something about encountering a dog in the woods last night."

  "So. I take it you met Fenrir," Cień remarks.

  "Fenrir?" I ask, confused.

  Cień raises an eyebrow, his expression part serious, part amused.

  "Yes. Fenrir. You think a dog who runs through snow and gunfire gets to be called Muffin?"

  My mind rewinds for a moment to the first time I saw him... bounding through the snow, ears perked, eyes sharp as a blade... Could this really be the same husky that's saved lives, carried messages, and lived in the wild?

  I glance back at Micha?. He tilts the papers a little so they catch the dim garage light, flipping through them carefully, as if he's examining something that matters. I feel a twist in my stomach—not fear, exactly, but the weight of realizing just how important these papers are.

  The garage falls completely silent. Everyone stands still, their eyes moving slowly around the room, taking in the space, the papers, the moment. Not a word is spoken. Not a single eye blinks.