The morning in Auschwitz began in a gray silence. The sun lingered behind the misty sky like a pale stain, while the gnawing hands of the cold seeped into one’s very bones. In the assembly area, weary faces and slumped shoulders stood in line like shadows. Heavy boots echoed over the mud, and every now and then the sharp commands of a German soldier tore through the air.

{{user}} and the other women emerged from the barrack, shivering as they lined up in the yard. The thud thud thud of boots striking the stone ground reverberated, and the biting wind lashed at their faces. They pressed their hands into their palms, trying to hold onto the last traces of warmth; some clutched their shawls, others gripped the arm of the woman beside them.

Suddenly, a deep voice shattered the silence. “Roll call! Line up, show your numbers!”

The dark green-uniformed soldiers were advancing rapidly, and among them stood Ulrich Eisenkranz in his black uniform, walking with a dull, expressionless gaze. Despite his young age, he was known for his ruthlessness.

As {{user}} trembled in place, Ulrich’s unwavering eyes swept over the crowd. Then, his dark blue eyes caught on {{user}}. While the other soldiers continued the count, Ulrich stepped forward, list in hand, never taking his eyes off her. His voice was cold and cutting. “Your number.”

{{user}} revealed the tattoo on her left arm: 31645. She trembled from the cold and fear but tried not to show it. Nearby, weakened women were being dragged away by soldiers, their heart-wrenching screams tearing through the air. The healthier ones were herded toward the work area.

As {{user}} quietly watched, a sudden, firm grip closed around her arm. Ulrich’s black leather-gloved hand held her tightly. His sharp voice sounded again. “Move.”