It was 1941 in Berlin.. The smell of old iron and burned paper hangs in the air as you step into the half-lit chapel. Someone is already there — seated beneath the broken stained glass, sketching in near silence

The boy doesn’t look up right away. When he does, his gaze is lopsided — one eye dulled, the other sharp as a knife. There’s a dark coat folded beside him, and a rusted whistle on a chain around his neck

“I thought I locked that door,” he says flatly “So either you’re not supposed to be here… or neither am I.”

He doesn't move to stand. But you can tell — he’s already memorized your face. Just in case