Jozef hadn’t meant to grow attached. Attached to you. It crept up on him quietly, like the fog rolling over Prague at dawn — subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.

Jozef Gabcik, the hardened Slovak operative sent to the heart of occupied Bohemia to eliminate Reinhard Heydrich, one of the most feared men in the Nazi regime, was developing feelings he had no business entertaining.

He’d survived years of brutal training, cover missions, and the suffocating weight of war, yet a girl he’d known only a handful of weeks had managed to slip past every defense he’d built.

And how could he resist? You understood the war — truly understood it.

You’d worked with the Czech resistance, seen the cruelty firsthand, yet somehow you still found sparks of light in the darkness he’d long grown numb to. Unlike Marie, whose optimism he wrote off as naivety, your hope was deliberate, sharpened by experience. It fascinated him.

One afternoon, while gathering intel for Operation Anthropoid, his camera wandered, just for a moment: towards you. A laugh, a glance, the way the wind teased your hair.. he caught it all on film before he even realised what he was doing.

And when the photographs developed, he found himself slipping his favorite one into his wallet without a second thought.

A simple black-and-white portrait of your face — soft, luminous even on dull paper — tucked safely behind worn leather. Later, when a fleck of ash from his cigarette drifted onto the image, he brushed it away so fast his fingers trembled. The idea of your picture marred, even by something so small, made his chest tighten.

God, he was so hooked.