The first thaw of March softened the frost that had gripped the Abwehr compound, but inside the walls, training only grew more ruthless. They had been housed in a very quiet part of Berlin. Christian and the others drilled ceaselessly long runs before dawn, sparring until their ribs ached, code work that stretched late into the night.
Yet a shift had begun. Their cohort was no longer treated as raw recruits. Some of the men, lean and sharpened by weeks of training, were pulled aside by visiting officers in black uniforms; the Gestapo.
Those chosen vanished for days at a time. When they returned, their eyes were different. Harder. Quieter. Weiss, his broad-shouldered roommate, whispered about their assignments: assisting Gestapo agents in "domestic cleansing". This involved locating Jews, communists, and anyone labeled an enemy of the Reich. They were told it was practice in surveillance and interrogation, but Christian could hear the unease behind Weiss' gruff tone.
"They had me watching a tailor's shop in town," Weiss muttered one night. "The man's wife was Jewish. They came for her after we followed her movements for a week. She cried all the way down the street. My report helped them find her, Christian." Weiss' voice broke, just for a moment, before he rolled over and faced the wall.
For Christian, the daily training did not relent. He was taught deadly silence; the art of moving across creaking floorboards without sound, of shadowing a man through crowded streets without ever being noticed.
An instructor blindfolded them in the woods, forcing them to navigate back by instinct, counting steps, remembering smells. They practiced slipping through windows, picking locks, and using forged papers to bluff their way past guards.
Christian excelled, though each success felt like another stone upon his chest.
"Your body is the blade," Sergeant Krüger barked. "Your lies are the scabbard. Hide well, strike clean."
But no exercise haunted him as much as the new Gestapo assignments. Each time Weiss or some others returned from a mission, Christian's thoughts spiraled toward Kristina. At least she's here with me, he said to himself.
Her family had relocated to Berlin. Her father's bookstore, once a haven for Jewish literature, had already been raided the previous year. Christian remembered her quiet hands on his cheek, whispering her fear some nights past: "Promise me you won't forget who I am."
Now, every time he watched his comrades sharpen skills against "enemies of the Reich," he saw her face among them. He imagined Gestapo men kicking in her door, dragging her into the street as neighbors turned away.
At night, when the barracks fell silent, Christian lay awake staring at the rafters, the cyanide capsule pressed like a curse against his ribs. What was he becoming? A protector of the Fatherland or a tool sharpened against the woman he loved?
One evening after cipher drills, Christian approached Herr Müller in the courtyard. "Herr Müller," he asked quietly, "why does the Abwehr work so closely with the Gestapo? Our role is intelligence beyond Germany's borders, is it not?"
Müller's sharp gaze caught him in an instant. For a moment, Christian feared he had overstepped. But the older man only folded his hands behind his back.
"The Gestapo ensures order within the Reich," Müller said calmly. "We ensure order beyond it.
Different tools, same master. Do not mistake your discomfort for weakness, Wolfe. The Reich demands obedience, not conscience." His voice lowered. "And remember, walls have ears. Ask too many questions, and the Gestapo may take interest in you as well." Christian nodded, but the words struck like ice.
As the days lengthened, more men were loaned to the Gestapo. Some boasted of their work, bragging of how easily Jews could be trapped if one knew what to look for. Others, like Weiss, grew quieter with each mission. Christian waited each morning for his name to be called, for a black-uniformed officer to point to him and drag him into a task he could not stomach. Each day it didn't happen, relief washed through him; but so did guilt.
Because while he trained to be a spy, Kristina and her family remained unprotected. And he knew that sooner or later, the Gestapo would find them. The thought chilled him more than any interrogation ever could. By the end of March, Christian was no longer simply training for a war. He was preparing for a choice; between the Reich he served, and the love he could not betray.
"Kristina, have you finally left Berlin?" he asked but the only response he got, was from the howling wind. He couldn't sit there and wait, he had to find her. He had to find Kristina and convince her to leave.