Sarah and Leo's truck rolled slowly up to the JPS border checkpoint. The air was thick with tension as Japanese soldiers in dark olive uniforms, rifles slung over their backs, and bayonets fixed, stood like statues at the gate. Unlike before, this crossing was different—more fortified, more alert, the direct result of recent sabotage rumors and Yamamoto's growing paranoia.
A high concrete wall stretched along the border road, topped with barbed wire and spotlights. Pillboxes lined the side of the road with Nambu machine guns visible behind narrow slits. Signs in both Japanese and English read: Warning. Border Control. All Vehicles Subject to Full Inspection.
Leo looked at Sarah. "Just follow my lead. We have papers."
The truck rolled to a stop.
A stern-faced sergeant motioned them to pull over. "Rear inspection," he barked in Japanese-accented English. Behind him, ten soldiers formed into two groups—one approaching the cab, one circling the truck.
A Japanese Army lieutenant, younger than the rest, stepped toward Leo's side of the cab, flipping through the identification papers. He didn't say much, only nodded toward the cargo bed.
The soldiers opened the rear.
Crates stacked neatly. Marked only with the kanji for "fruit."
One soldier pried a crate open. Dozens of red apples.
Another crate—more apples.
The lieutenant pulled one out, turned it in his hand, then casually took a bite. He chewed slowly, his expression unreadable.
Sarah's palms were sweating.
The lieutenant finally looked at them.
"Welcome to the Japanese Pacific States," he said with a smirk. "You're free to go."
Sarah exhaled. Leo didn't look back. He shifted into gear and drove forward, their fake fruit cargo untouched—concealing the weapons wrapped tightly beneath the apple piles.
As the checkpoint disappeared in the mirror, they both knew: they were inside the dragon's mouth now. The road to San Francisco had begun.
SS Headquarters – Manhattan
Lucy Highmen's arrival was quiet but elegant. She stepped out of the SS convoy onto the cobbled courtyard in front of the towering black-stone fortress that housed the American SS's core. Flags bearing the Reichsadler and swastika snapped in the wind. Guards in stormtrooper-gray uniforms stood in rows, weapons at attention.
Imel waited by the main doors, flanked by Felton.
Lucy stepped forward—blonde hair in curls, blue eyes piercing, crimson lipstick, a body that turned heads even among cold SS uniforms. She wore a tailored black suit dress with modest Nazi detailing and her appointment letter pinned to her chest.
"Professor Highmen," Imel said with a sly smile, "I've heard a great deal."
"Mostly good, I hope," she replied, cool but curious.
"Mostly… intriguing." His eyes lingered a little too long.
Felton stepped forward. "You'll be debriefed today, then moved into your quarters."
But Imel wasn't done. "Come with me. I have a few… questions first."
He led her inside to his private office—bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes, war maps on the walls, and a crackling fireplace despite the summer heat.
"I reviewed your file, Lucy. Excellent grasp of Reich history. Sharp discipline record. And yet…"
He stepped closer. "There's something behind those eyes. A depth. A fire."
She tilted her head, smirking. "Curiosity is part of the job."
"I like curiosity," he said softly.
She didn't pull away.
Felton cleared his throat outside, but Imel didn't move.
"Tell me, Lucy… do you believe in fate?"
"I believe in influence," she said. "Fate is for cowards."
He laughed—low and approving. "You'll do well here."
She smiled. But something about his presence made her heart race—not in fear, but fascination. She wasn't sure if she was being pulled into his gravity or stepping in willingly.
"I've taken special interest in your future," Imel began, handing her a glass. "The Reich rewards loyalty. Excellence. Beauty."
She smirked. "Is that all I am?"
"No," he replied, walking around behind her chair. "You're ambitious. Intelligent. Precisely the kind of woman that belongs in Berlin—not wasting herself in some schoolhouse in Long Island."
She turned slightly to look at him. "Then why bring me here?"
"Because your career begins today. But there must be… clarity."
He moved to his desk, pulled a small red folder from a drawer, and slid it in front of her.
"Effective immediately, your husband Tyler is being reassigned—down the coast. Reich Health Command wants a reorganization in Virginia. He'll be heading it."
She blinked. "He doesn't know about this."
"He will. Orders were delivered this morning."
Her eyes narrowed. "You separated us."
Imel leaned in close, voice velvet-wrapped steel. "I cleared the path. For you."
"And what path is that?" she asked, heart pounding.
"The one beside me," he said, smiling. "You'll return to Berlin—once I conclude my affairs here. And there… you'll be everything the Reich wants. But while you're still here—you'll cater to me. My needs. My confidence. My vision."
She stared at him, lips parted. She knew this was more than politics now. It was power. And seduction. And the strange electricity between them was now unmistakable.
"And if I refuse?"
Imel's face didn't change. "You won't."
He extended his hand.
Lucy took it.
Imel leaned forward, eyes locked on hers, the firelight flickering in the reflection of his glass.
"You'll return to Berlin—once I conclude my affairs here. And there… you'll be everything the Reich wants. But while you're still here—you'll cater to me. My needs. My confidence. My vision."
She didn't look away. "And what if I say no?"
His expression remained calm, but the steel in his tone returned. "You won't. You see, Lucy… power like this—true power—doesn't knock twice. You either take it… or get crushed by it."
Lucy slowly rose from the chair, her breath shallow, gaze steady as she closed the space between them. Her voice was quiet, almost curious. "And is this how you reward loyalty, Obergruppenführer?"
He didn't answer with words.
The silence was heavy. The air between them—sharp with tension, thick with the gravity of unspoken decisions—crackled like static.
He reached for her waist.
She didn't pull back.
The fireplace flickered violently as the wind howled outside the tall windows of SS Headquarters. Behind the heavy iron door of Imel's private office, under the shadow of the eagle and swastika above the mantle, Lucy Highmen made her decision—not as a schoolteacher, not as a wife, but as a woman who saw the game for what it was.
And chose to win it.
The next morning, when Felton knocked once and entered with reports in hand, he found Imel seated alone at his desk, collar perfectly buttoned, black gloves resting beside a steaming cup of coffee.
"Anything on the matter we discussed?" Imel asked coolly.
Felton passed him the file without comment, though his glance flicked toward the neatly folded woman's scarf tucked partially beneath the edge of the desk.
"Yes, sir," Felton replied. "It's all in there. Her full profile."
Imel didn't look up. He smiled faintly. "Good. Then we visit the Prison today."
Felton gave a crisp nod.
"Of course, Obergruppenführer."
Oakland, Japanese Pacific States – 11:47 PM
Lilith Lin sprayed a touch of perfume onto her neck, adjusted the collar of her black overcoat, and tied her hair into a high bun. Her dress was modest by Japanese standards—but still daring by protocol.
"Heading out?" Jack asked from the kitchen.
"Meeting some girlfriends," she said, casual, grabbing her bag. "We're doing sake and cards."
Jack gave a tired nod. "Be safe. The curfew—"
"I'll be back before it," she cut in, smiling, already walking out the door.
But Lilith wasn't heading to any girl's night.
A black luxury car was waiting three blocks away. Inside sat Vice Admiral Takeshi Arimoto—clad in a civilian coat, his naval cap resting on the seat beside him. He didn't speak as she climbed in. They drove in silence to his private penthouse overlooking San Francisco Bay.
No guards.
No cameras.
No lights on—except for the hallway leading to the master suite.
Relationships between white occupation women and Japanese elites were not forbidden—but frowned upon deeply. Arimoto's position made it especially dangerous.
And yet, Lilith didn't care.
They met in secret. Talked in whispers. Shared ambitions. And tonight, again—they made sure nobody knew.
Back at Sarah and Jack's Apartment
The clock ticked past midnight.
Jack was searching for Sarah's notebook when he accidentally knocked over a small locked drawer. The metal latch had already been weakened. It popped open as it hit the ground.
Curious, he pulled out a folder.
Red ink. Hand-drawn maps. Photographs. Stamped clearance documents.
His hands froze.
He recognized the handwriting. Sarah's.
One photo showed her standing in a crowd. Another had a blurred face, but the caption read:
"Contact: The Voice. Confirmation Pending."
Jack's chest tightened. His fiancée wasn't just a translator. Or a secretary.
She was embedded in something vast. Something dangerous.
He sat on the floor, folder in hand, heart pounding in silence—wondering if he'd been sleeping beside a stranger all along.