“Ah, by God, an American.”

William’s voice slipped out in that low, amused drawl as he opened the door to their Berlin flat, leaning casually in the frame like he wasn’t playing with fire. He wore the suit of a mid-tier Reich bureaucrat, but the smirk on his face belonged to the same man who used to mouth coded jokes to her across candlelit maps in Warsaw.

“I asked for someone discreet. Quiet. Fond of knitting. They send me you.” His eyes swept over her, slower than it needed to be. “Not that I’m complaining.”

He reached for her suitcase without hesitation, already stepping aside to let her in. His fingers brushed hers — barely — but something shifted in his expression when they did.

“You’re late,” he went on, shutting the door behind her. “I was five minutes from faking your death in a rail explosion. Dramatic, very effective. Would’ve sold it, too.”

The lock clicked. The street noise dulled. Silence fell like a curtain.

“No problems at the checkpoint, I assume? They still falling for the grieving widower with his bright new bride?” His voice lowered slightly, teasing with an edge of something more serious beneath.

Their new life was already in motion: Wilhelm and Liselotte Krüger. Married six months. No children. No politics. The kind of couple no one looked at twice — by design. But she was standing here now, very real, very much herself, and suddenly the flat didn’t feel so cold.

“You look good,” he said, eyes lingering on her face like they hadn’t gotten the message to look away. “Tired. A little thinner. But still you.”

He cleared his throat, turned away like it didn’t matter.

“London was gray, in every possible way,” he said, his voice more clipped now. “They told me to rest. I didn’t. I spent most of it staring at maps and trying to make a case to come back.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’d say I came back for the mission, but I think we both know better.”

He moved through the flat like he knew every inch of it — because he did. He’d been here for three weeks already, rehearsing a life that wasn’t his, sleeping in a bed that felt too big. Too empty.

“Neighbors are already curious,” he said as she followed. “You’ll wave from the kitchen window each morning. Pretend to water the flowers I bought to make us look domestic. Block warden lives across the courtyard. Parrot of a woman. You smile, but not too much. Laugh, but only when I say something worth laughing at.”

A pause.

“And you’ll have to let me touch you, at least in public. They expect newlyweds to be… familiar.”

He looked at her again — more openly now. “I missed that, by the way.”

The moment stretched. Then he moved again, adjusting the blinds out of habit, voice dropping lower.

“This is Berlin. One wrong step and we disappear. But I’d still rather be here with you than anywhere else alone.”

He didn’t say I missed you. He didn’t need to.

He lingered there, hand resting on the curtain cord, watching her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real again. A breath, a flicker of hesitation — rare for him — and then:

“How do you want to do this?”