Nikolai nodded, then motioned to the two unfamiliar men. Both peered at him from the corners of their eyes as they whispered between themselves. “It is not just for your safety but others as well. I am serious when I mean it will put a target on our backs.”

  Straightening, Nikolai grasped Josef’s shoulders. “You can choose to leave now. Walk out that door and slip back into your normal life—as normal as it is these days.” His grip tightened. “But even then, know you will not be out of danger. Today . . .” He gritted his teeth. “Today can change everything, but I feel things will get worse before they get better. Much worse.”

  Josef thought of his grandfather. Something had brought Grandfather to tears last night—something he’d wanted to tell Josef. No doubt it was the same familiar warning: hold back. Josef scratched his head as another word came to memory. If an honest invention can be used for such terror, then any weapon can be made into something new.

  What did Grandfather mean by that?

  He wouldn’t want Josef to get mixed up in a plot like this, that was for sure. It didn’t make sense. Being a pacifist was one thing. But what did you call someone who refused to fight against pure evil? A coward? Even though Grandfather no longer had the youthful energy to pick up a weapon and attack, surely he could do more than cower when so many they knew—even his son—were being shipped away.

  Since Grandfather would not help solve their dilemma, Josef would find others who could.

  “I’m in.” He eyed two men preparing by adding a metal canister into a satchel. “Whatever this is, I want to be part of it.”

  A small smile tugged on Nikolai’s cheeks—a smile that grew as he walked toward the two men who were obviously in charge. Soon, the warehouse hummed with whispered words. Plans were being made and secrets shared.

  No one gave Josef any mind, so he folded his arms and stood against the wall. Fear pulsated through him. By the end of the day would anyone from the Jewish district, including Grandfather, understand that men were planning to fight? Even die? Did ordinary people understand this was the price of freedom? Then again, what was the alternative?

  Just when he was confident he would not be accepted, the two leaders slipped on long coats, shot glances at each other, and then, with mirrored nods, turned to Josef. For three heartbeats, he stared disbelievingly as they approached.

  One man pulled a black metal object from his coat pocket and extended it to Josef. He hesitated briefly before accepting their offering. From the determined fix of the men’s gazes, Josef knew they had only one thing on their minds: death.

  Kateřina’s heels clicked against the floor as she briskly entered the newsroom, the rhythmic tapping of typewriters echoing her determined pace. Holding her chin high, she met the eyes of several reporters who looked her way. Their gazes a mixture of pity and disdain.

  Evka called her earlier that morning, her voice tinged with sympathy, to inform her that word had spread within the office. “They’re saying your father wrote that article about the glass factory.”

  Kateřina felt a sting at the back of her eyes but refused to let it show. Everyone assumed she was employed only because of her father’s influential position at the newspaper, not because of her merit. Let them think she was there due to nepotism, she resolved. Let them underestimate her. She would prove them wrong, and her words would soon be the ones to make a difference.

  She paused near her father’s door without a story. She hadn’t written one. What was the use? This morning, she’d been determined to read whatever her father had written before it was published. Then again, last night’s story mattered little. She’d let him print what he wanted, keeping her attention focused on today’s interview.

  Reversing, she eyed her desk. No, she wouldn’t be able to sit either. She’d be interviewing Obergruppenführer Heydrich today, and her nerves were twisted like a tangled ball of yarn. Instead, she strode to the window.

  Three stories below, a Nazi jeep rumbled by on the cobblestone streets. Soldiers with red armbands, marked with white circles and black swastikas, marched past in two columns. Overhead, an airship bearing the same markings floated between the office buildings—the ever-present eye of the Germans.

  She vividly recalled the day, three years prior, when Hitler’s troops had first rumbled into Prague. Immense snowflakes, as large as gears, gracefully descended from a steel-gray sky. Soldiers, wearing helmets adorned with intricate metalwork and gas mask visors, marched in grim formation.

  Behind them trailed an array of fantastical machines that showcased Germany’s audacious blend of steam and steel. Monstrous tanks, fitted with myriad rotating gears, belching steam, and articulated legs, looked like mechanical spiders from a nightmarish dream. Skyships hovered overhead, their propellers whirring and casting dark, fleeting shadows upon the cobbled streets below.

  Flying machines with ornate, winged designs sputtered skyward, their engines leaving trails of smoke and steam. Articulated armored suits clanked alongside traditional troops, making the ground tremble with their every step.

  It wasn’t solely the overwhelming might of the German war machine that had made her heart skip like a misaligned gear. Beyond the cold steel and steam of their machinations, there was an unmistakable ruthlessness in the eyes of the soldiers. Their expressions were as unyielding and mechanical as the machinery they operated. It was as if their humanity had been stripped away, replaced by gears and cogs, turning them into living extensions of the very machines they controlled. In Germany’s ambition, they had seamlessly merged Victorian innovation with modern warfare techniques—tools they believed would grant them an unyielding grip over any nation they desired.

  The city had been blanketed with snow on the day of their arrival, and a hushed silence had permeated every corner. The shouts of the soldiers had assaulted the air, and snow in the streets soon gathered at the edges in dirty clumps, evidence of the enemies arriving in every district of Prague.

  The brilliant blue sky had dared to peek out from behind gray clouds that day, giving Kateřina a glimmer of hope that somewhere a sun still shone, no matter the darkness the Germans cast. The Nazis could not blot out all light. Or at least that’s what she had thought before last night. Would anything be able to stop them? Anyone?

  She drummed her fingers on the windowsill, remembering the punctuated music of last night. At first, Kateřina had attempted to find some good in the German’s presence. It was why her father was promoted.

  Father had taken the place of the former editor in chief, a Jewish man named Goldberg who had fled for his life. While her father didn’t celebrate the Nazis’ presence, he hadn’t disapproved either. War sells papers, he’d said in his first weeks at his job. We may not be able to change history, but we can profit from it.

  Even those words never sat well with her.

  Behind her, the other reporters talked in low tones. She’d have a hundred knives in her back if their jealous sneers could shoot daggers. She was getting the attention they desired. But they didn’t believe she deserved the role. This was why she needed to prove herself even more. Maybe she could capture the right story today—one that would please her father and earn her a spot on the front page. Yes, that could happen. She could make it happen.

  With new determination, Kateřina marched into her father’s office without knocking, ignoring the glances of others. Beams of sunlight glinted off the gold-plated lamp Mr. Goldberg had left behind, and her father glanced up with curiosity as she entered.

  “I will write my own story. I want you to hold my spot.”

  Father returned to the text before him, proofing with a sharp pencil.

  Kateřina took another step forward. “Did you hear me? I know you’re trying to help me, but I know what I’m doing. I know what Obergruppenführer Heydrich expects of me.”

  Still, her father did not lift his head.

  “Are you going to answer me?”

  “Are you going to shut the door?” he said without emotion.

  She turned and did as he requested. Then she sat in the chair opposite him, peering across the desk.

  Finally, he sighed at her. “If you want me to argue, I will not.” He rubbed his brow. Then he placed his palm against his heart. “I remember the last war vividly. I was part of the Czechoslovak Legion, fighting for the Allies on the Eastern Front. Our orders were to move through Siberia to Vladivostok to secure a seaport for the Allies.”

  Kateřina frowned. She’d heard this before. Had he forgotten? Then Father’s eyes widened, full of emotion, and she realized he was speaking to her as a daughter now—not as a reporter. Kateřina pressed her lips tight and allowed him to continue.

  “As we advanced through Siberia, we established control over large parts of the region. However, we began to clash with the Bolsheviks as we moved further east and became increasingly involved in the Russian Civil War.

  “In July 1918, we heard rumors that the Romanov family, including Tsar Nicholas II, was being held captive in Yekaterinburg. We knew we had to do something to try and rescue them.

  “Our leaders dispatched a small unit of soldiers, led by Captain Jaroslav Řezáč, to undertake the dangerous mission of freeing the tsar and his family. We knew it was a mission that could end badly, but we had to try.

  “On the night of 16 July, I was one of the men with Řezáč who attacked the Bolshevik-held city of Yekaterinburg.” He closed his eyes and paused.

  Pained emotion carried with his words as he continued, “It was one of the most intense and brutal battles I have ever experienced. We knew the mission was dangerous, but we were determined to try and rescue Tsar Nicholas II and his family. When we entered the city, we were met with fierce resistance from the Bolsheviks. They were heavily armed and had fortified positions throughout the city.

  “The fighting lasted all night long. We engaged in close-quarters combat, fighting from building to building and street to street. We could hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions all around us, and the smoke from burning buildings and wreckage made it challenging to see and breathe.

  “Despite the odds stacked against us, we fought with everything we had. Captain Řezáč led us fearlessly, and his tactical skills helped us gain ground against the Bolsheviks. But as the night wore on, we realized the mission would be more difficult than we had ever anticipated.”

  Kateřina leaned forward in her seat. Yes, she’d known her father had fought in the war, but for the first time, she pictured him there as a scared young man. And as he spoke, he sounded like a terrified young man still.

  Her emotions twisted like a kaleidoscope, shifting and changing, but always a mix of pride, sadness, and fear. She needed to listen, truly listen. In a few hours, she’d be sitting before the Obergruppenführer Heydrich. There had to be a purpose for her father’s story; the only way to discover it would be to listen well.

  “The next day, we learned that the Bolsheviks had brutally executed the Romanov family. It was a devastating blow to us and our hopes of rescuing the tsar and his family. Our efforts had been in vain, and we mourned the loss of innocent lives.”

  As her father spoke, she saw the pain in his eyes. This was a challenging story for him to tell. But as he recounted the bravery and sacrifice of his fellow soldiers, she couldn’t help but feel proud of him and all the men who fought alongside him.

  Does Father feel the same now? Is there the same pride in this secret fight of his? He had a stake in this somehow, but it was one she knew little about. And today wasn’t the day to demand answers.

  “The fate of the Romanovs remained a mystery for many years. We all had hope, of course. We didn’t want the rumors of their deaths to be true.”

  Father sighed, and Kateřina wiped the tears that pooled at the corners of her eyes. Her father’s stories—his service—were like an old pair of boots that no longer fit but ones he kept as a reminder of where he had been.

  Or ones that warn me about the path I’m about to walk? Yes, that could be the case, too.

  “I will never forget that night in Yekaterinburg and the bravery of Captain Řezáč and my fellow soldiers in trying to rescue the tsar and his family.” His words drifted off. He would not hold a spot for her on the front page, and now she understood why.

  Instead of feeling awkward, the silence between them seemed like a gift. Instead of an argument, there was understanding.

  “Perhaps we shall both wait and see what today holds,” she stated simply. “No use arguing about tomorrow, is there?”

  His eyes met hers, and he offered a placating hand. “Yes, we will see what tomorrow holds, won’t we? Until then, we will fight with all we can.”

  She knew their talk was over when he returned his attention to the proof spread across his desk. No more words were needed, so Kateřina stood and exited his office.

  The newsroom seemed quieter than usual. Those who worked alongside her cast side glances, no doubt waiting for her to say or do something in hopes they could determine what had happened behind the closed door. Kateřina knew her every movement would be judged as long as she was in this room. She decided not to give them the opportunity.

  She glanced around, offering only a smile and no explanation. She then read her watch. She still had an hour before her interview but could no longer stay in the newsroom.

  Grabbing her camera and satchel, Kateřina left the noise of the clattering of typewriter keys behind her. After walking down two flights of stairs, she emerged on the busy street.

  The sounds of traffic mixed with voices on the road. A bell tolled from a distance, and a church bell clamored. A man in a disheveled suit strode past, face red. As he passed her, he paused from his quick walk to catch his breath, wheezing like a sick horse.

  Just up the street, three soldiers had gathered around two dark-haired women, their rifles slung over their shoulders and pointed into the sky like new saplings. The soldiers eyed the women’s papers with skeptical frowns. Their voices rose as they thumbed through the pages, causing the winded man to launch into his hurried pace again.

  If she could ignore the groups of soldiers or the rumbling of tanks crawling past, it would seem like nothing had changed in Prague. But one could not overlook the Germans.

  Rhythmic thuds of metal pounding on cobblestone drew her attention to a German spider tank. Its eight legs moved in pairs, alternating steps. A terrible sight that made her long for the days when tanks simply rolled by.

  As a show of force, it turned its tank cannon toward a group of young Jewish men, which caused them to scramble and flee. One of the soldiers operating the tank opened the hatch on top, mocking the terrified civilians as they ran.

  She paused and patted her satchel, wishing to ask Obergruppenführer Heydrich the questions she wanted:

  If you want to win the war, wouldn’t it be better to send your troops to the front lines instead of rounding up and assaulting ordinary citizens?

  Why did you choose Prague to be your headquarters above all places?

  And finally, what have you been told about me, Obergruppenführer Heydrich? What do you think I have to offer?

  Of course, those were not questions she’d be allowed to ask. Instead, she’d listen closely—both to hear and to understand—for the second time today. As Kateřina moved to the trolley, she knew one thing for sure. Even when one tried to fight the present, one must first consider the past. The past is what made her father who he was today. History made Obergruppenführer Heydrich who he was today, too. Until those rising against Heydrich understood the demons of the past, they wouldn’t be able to rise against his demonic acts in the present.

  Kateřina joined others on the sidewalk as she made her way to the tram stop. Around her, commuters hurried past each other like leaves blown by gusts of wind. Ahead, an older woman walked hunched, shuffling among the men in suits and the mothers with shopping bags and prams. Kateřina would get to the castle grounds early and take a position in the waiting room of Heydrich’s office. No one would pay her any mind as she waited, watched, and listened, which would benefit her.

  What juicy bits could she discover when everyone trusted she was there to interview Heydrich? A puppet to mold the Obergruppenführer’s words into a story befitting the retelling of their German fairy tale: Protectors of the great land of their ancestors, Bohemia and Moravia, rising to claim their rightful kingdom. Yes, she, too, would make them think she believed that.

  Absorbed in her plans, Kateřina momentarily lost herself in the potential narrative she could weave. She imagined the tale she’d tell, a story that would make them believe she was on their side. But as she plotted, the reality around her began to change.

  The atmosphere shifted. It felt like the impending onset of a storm. The sensation of ground vibrations, like a spider tank lumbering past, caused her to pause her steps. Yet nothing was in sight.

  She wasn’t the only one who felt it. The older woman nearby appeared equally perplexed. The woman’s bright yellow scarf stood out, tightly wrapped around her graying hair and knotted neatly beneath her chin. Their eyes met in mutual bewilderment.

  The woman inhaled a deep breath through her nose, and her forehead creased in question. “This air . . . it smells of the factory where my husband once worked, right by the Vltava River.” She paused, her nose wrinkling. “I can almost smell the water and clay, the tang of metal, and the slick of oil.”

  Kateřina wanted to dismiss it as mere ramblings of age, but she couldn’t deny it. She perceived the same scents. As passengers gathered at the corner for the upcoming tram, Kateřina found herself inexplicably drawn to the elderly woman, captivated by their shared experience. But as seconds ticked by, the surroundings began to feel more surreal. It wasn’t just about the peculiar scent anymore.

  A shiver ran down Kateřina’s spine. The air before her seemed to shift and shimmer. She paused her steps and pulled her satchel closer to her body. The atmosphere was as heavy as a leaden sky before a storm. There was only one problem—not a cloud dotted the blue expanse above her.