The palace above Innsbruck slept beneath a cold sky.
Snow had begun to fall again, the flakes slow and deliberate, like ash that refused to choose a season.
Beyond the windows, the peaks were silver ghosts; below them the valley lights shimmered, factories, rail lines, barracks, an empire breathing through iron lungs.
Inside, the great study was warm with lamplight and smoke.
The old radio on Bruno's desk hissed with the last of the American broadcasts.
Reports rolled in through Berlin, relayed and translated by aides who knew better than to interrupt while the Reichsmarschall listened.
"…curfew extended nationwide… communications under federal control… President Roosevelt announces provisional emergency government…"
The voice was smooth, disciplined, almost soothing.
Bruno leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped around a crystal glass of brandy.
The other tapped faintly on the armrest in time with the static.
