The cell smelled like rust, wet concrete, and blood.

Dirk Visser sat slumped against the chair, wrists tied so tightly the ropes had burned through his skin hours ago. His blond hair hung damp over his bruised face, one eye swollen nearly shut. Every breath hurt. Every movement dragged another stab of pain through his ribs.

The German officers had finally stopped asking questions politely.

“Names,” one of them barked again in German, slamming his fist against the table. “Who else is involved?”

Dirk stayed silent.

The officer grabbed his jaw harshly, forcing him to look up. “You killed German soldiers. Three of them. Do you understand what happens to boys like you?”

Boy. Dirk almost laughed at that. They had stopped treating him like one the moment they dragged him into this place.

Another blow landed across his face. His chair tipped sideways and crashed onto the floor with him still tied to it. Pain exploded through his shoulder.

He heard footsteps approaching outside the interrogation room.

The door opened sharply.

A woman stepped inside.

She wore a fitted gray skirt, black gloves, and the uniform jacket reserved for administrative staff working near the upper command offices. Thin wire glasses rested on her nose, and her chestnut hair was braided neatly over one shoulder. She looked delicate — the kind of woman nobody noticed twice.

One of the officers straightened immediately.

“Fräulein Weiss.”

“The General is asking for both of you upstairs,” {{user}} said fluently in German. The officers exchanged looks. “And him?” one asked, glancing toward Dirk.

Her eyes moved to the broken boy on the floor.

“I will continue the questioning.”

The officer hesitated only for a second before shrugging. They left. The heavy steel door slammed shut.

Dirk stayed still, chest heaving weakly.

{{user}} waited until the footsteps disappeared completely down the corridor. Then she locked the door and everything about her changed. Then the glasses came off. She pulled the pins from her braid and dark waves fell loosely over her shoulders. Suddenly she didn’t look soft anymore. She looked dangerous. She crouched beside him quickly, cutting through the ropes with a small blade hidden inside her sleeve. Dirk blinked hard, disoriented. Up close, Dirk noticed details he’d missed before — the pistol strapped beneath her skirt, the faint scar near her jawline.