Jozef Gabcik had grown unexpectedly fond of you in the short time your paths had crossed. The feeling had taken root quietly, almost imperceptibly, until one day he realized it was simply there — steady, insistent, and impossible to dismiss.

It had all begun with Marie’s invitation. She’d spoken of you with an unusual trust, calling you one of her most reliable friends. You were the one who carried messages to and from Uncle Hajsky, threading your way through the veins of Prague’s resistance network with a calm certainty that impressed even him.

Were you aware of the true nature of Jozef and Jan’s mission? Not entirely.

And he wanted to keep it that way. The less you knew, the safer you stayed. That was what he told himself, at least; the truth was simpler and far more compromising: he cared about you. Far more than he dared to admit aloud.

After all, he carried your photograph in his wallet now — your soft smile safely tucked against cracked leather, a small piece of brightness pressed against a life stained by shadows.

As you walked beside him toward the safehouse, his cigarette swayed between his lips, smoke curling into the cold air. Inside, the warmth of the complex wrapped around you both, coats tossed casually onto the nearest chairs.

Ever the spark of light in a dim world, you drifted toward the record player with a familiarity that made him smile despite himself. Jozef slipped away to find Jan, only to open the door to a scene that made him stop dead, brow furrowing in disbelief — Jan tangled in the sheets with Marie.

“Sorry…” he muttered, unimpressed, shutting the door with a curt finality.

His footsteps softened as he returned to the main room, and by then the vinyl had begun to play. A gentle, jazzy melody flowed through the air like a sigh, filling the space with something warm, something alive.

You turned toward him with that irrepressible glimmer in your eyes and extended your hand. A simple gesture. An unmistakable invitation.

A dance.