Eira’s hands trembled as her eyes reached the final line. For a moment she did not move. Then her shoulders sagged and she lowered her head, the paper slipping in her grasp as she slowly reached up and removed her helmet. The metal scraped softly as it cleared her ears. They folded back immediately, flat against her skull, a reflex she did not bother to suppress.

  Put down like a dog. She thought with a dull finality.

  Her breathing came unevenly now, shallow pulls that refused to steady as the full weight of it pressed down on her chest. Every fight. Every wound. Every night spent huddled in rubble or shattered fortifications. Every order followed without question. Everything. All of it had been for this.

  For nothing.

  The Reich was not lining them up and shooting them. That would have almost felt honest. Instead, they were being fed into the grinder, pushed into impossible positions until there was nothing left to bury. Her tail lashed once behind her, sharp and involuntary, then curled over her legs as if trying to hold herself together.

  “You done feeling sorry for yourself?” Emmett’s voice cracked through the silence like a lash.

  She snapped her head up.

  He stood a few paces away, relaxed to the point of insult. One hand rested casually on the holster at his hip. The other held his cigarette, its ember flaring softly as he drew from it. Smoke drifting upward, catching the beam of her light before dissolving into the foul air.

  Her body surged to its feet in one smooth motion, her helmet clattering to the ground. The sound echoing in the small space. Fury burning away the shock. Her blue eyes locked onto him, bright and wild.

  “Why did you show me this?” she snarled. Her voice wavered despite her effort to steady it. “Are you here to gloat?”

  His mouth curved, just slightly.

  “Partly,” he said. The word was flat, unashamed. He exhaled, smoke spilling from his mouth as he spoke. “Truth is, I planned on killing you outright. That was the idea. Clean. Simple.”

  He tilted his head, studying her as if reassessing a piece of equipment. “But then I found that,” he continued, nodding toward the paper in her hand. “And doing things this way felt more, ironic.”

  Her claws flexed.

  “Either you die here,” he went on evenly, “killed by the Reich you were so desperate to get back to. Or you come with me and die in a cage. Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t.”

  She turned fully toward him now, fists clenched so tight they shook.

  “Why would I choose that?” she demanded. “Why would I willingly let myself be turned into a lab rat?” She was a breath away from lunging. From driving the blade into his throat and dealing with the consequences later.

  Emmett gestured toward the crumpled page in her grip. “Because if you don’t,” he said calmly, “your kind dies out.”

  The words were delivered without heat. Without cruelty. That made them worse.

  “I know what they did to you,” he continued. “Sterilized you. All of you, like dogs.” His gaze stayed fixed on her face. “So if you give a damn about your kind, you come with me. You talk to the Allies. You tell them everything you know.”

  He took another drag from his cigarette. “And maybe,” he added, “just maybe they decide the idea of making more wolfmen is useful enough that you don’t vanish entirely.”

  His eye hardened.

  “Because right now,” he said, “this is the end of the line. The Reich has already written you off.”

  He paused, then shrugged faintly. “Unless you want to give the Russians a chance,” he added. “They’ve been awful hospitable in our previous encounters.”

  Eira crushed the paper in her fist. Her claws bit into her palm, her right hand tightening around her bayonet. A low sound tore from her throat as she squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand coming up to press hard against her brow.

  “You stay here, you die,” Emmett said, untroubled. “But do what you want. Makes no difference to me.”

  She bared her teeth, nostrils flaring as she dragged in angry breaths through her nose. Her thoughts raced, clawing for another path. Another answer. Some way out that did not involve betrayal layered on top of betrayal.

  There was nothing. Only death. Or a slower, colder version of it. Prodded. Poked. Dissected. Reduced to notes on a page. She opened her eyes. The thought settled in her mind with grim clarity. Not salvation. Not freedom. Just another leash, exchanged for a different hand. But it came with one possibility the Reich had already stripped away.

  Time.

  A chance to continue. A chance not to be erased quietly and without continuing as a species. If she surrendered herself to the cage, then she would drag as many of her kind with her as she could. Save them from being ground down one by one in silence. If they were damned, then they would be damned together, alive long enough for the world to be forced to reckon with them.

  The decision settled, heavy but firm.

  Eira drew in a slow breath through her nose and forced it out again. Her pulse steadied. The tight knot in her chest loosened just enough for her to stand upright. The rage drained from her expression, replaced by something flatter and more dangerous.

  Resolve.

  She straightened to her full height and looked at him.

  “Help me,” she said. The words landed harder than any threat.

  Emmett’s single eye narrowed instantly, his expression twisting as confusion gave way to anger. His posture shifted, shoulders tightening, hand flexing near his side.

  “Help you what?” he snapped. His voice dropped low, edged with warning.

  “Help me save my kind,” she replied. Her voice was steady now. Controlled. Her blue eyes did not leave his.

  For a moment he simply stared at her. Then his mouth curled into a scowl, jaw working as if he were grinding the thought between his teeth.

  She stepped forward before he could speak.

  “Help me warn them,” she said. “Help me get to as many as we can. And then,” she swallowed, her throat tightening around the words, “then I’ll go with you. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  He barked a sharp, humorless laugh and shook his head.

  “So I’m supposed to risk my neck for a bunch of mutts?” he said. “And for what?”

  “For me,” Eira shot back. The words cut clean and fast. “Because that is the only way you get me. Do you hear me, Emmett? That is the only way.”

  She took another step closer.

  “You want your revenge, Herr Granger?” she continued. “Then you are going to have to earn it.”

  “Earn it?” His lips curled over his teeth. “You have any idea what I went through to get here? What it took to pull this off?” His voice sharpened, raw anger finally breaking through. “I earned it, Eira. I fucking earned it.”

  He gestured sharply between them. “And you are really betting on me giving a damn. I don’t care about the rest of you. I win either way. I walk away, or you come with me. Same result in the end.”

  “Do you?” Eira challenged, her claws flexing once at her sides. “What is stopping me from stabbing you right now?”

  His gaze locked onto hers, cold and unwavering. His hand drifted closer to that damned knife at his hip, not drawing it, but letting the threat hang in the air.

  “If I don’t walk out of here,” he growled, “Dieter gets shot. Like the dog he is.”

  She laughed. It came out harsh and broken, her head dipping as the sound scraped out of her chest. The laughter died quickly, leaving only exhaustion behind.

  “It makes no difference,” she said quietly. “If that letter is real, then we are already dead. All of us.” She looked up again, eyes burning but clear. “At least this way it would be done.”

  She let out a long, tired breath and stepped closer to him. Carefully. Deliberately. She held his gaze as she adjusted her grip on her bayonet. For a heartbeat she held it there, then she slid it back into its sheath.

  “Help me,” she said again.

  She lifted the crumpled letter, smoothing it enough to be readable, and held it up between them.

  “The directive mentioned an attachment,” she continued. “Locations. Known deployments of other Sturmwolf units.” Her eyes flicked to his face. “Do you still have it?”

  His expression darkened further, irritation hardening into something more volatile.

  “I am starting to reconsider,” he said. “Maybe I should kill you right here and be done with it.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides.

  “Then do it,” she snapped. “I swear to God, Emmett, if you don’t, I will. Or you help me. Warn as many of my kind as possible. You have already come this far. I am asking you to go a little further.”

  He laughed incredulously, bitter and sharp.

  “A little further?” he scoffed. “Berlin is maybe a day or two from being completely surrounded. Russian armor is practically knocking on the door. And you think your people are just going to run to the Allies because I tell them to?”

  He shook his head before continuing. “Who’s to say they don’t shoot me on sight for even suggesting it?”

  Eira nodded slowly. Her heart hammered harder now, but she kept her voice level.

  “The first of my kind were raised directly under our creator,” she said. “They were not indoctrinated the way the later batches were. Their loyalty has already been questioned. Especially now.”

  She took another step closer.

  “We find them first,” she continued. “You speak to them as a sympathetic officer. I can help. I can mediate.”

  She leaned in closer, closing the last sliver of distance between them.

  “You can complete your initial mission,” she said quietly. “Not just bringing in one of us. But more.”

  For a moment Emmett simply stared at her. Then he scoffed again, folding his arms across his chest. His posture closing off as his brow furrowed in open frustration. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping once as he worked his teeth together.

  The sewer dripped around them, the slow echo of water striking stone filling the space between their breaths.

  Finally, his shoulders sagged. Just a fraction. Enough to notice. He dragged a hand down his face and let out a long, irritated sigh.

  “Fine,” he said at last. His voice was flat, stripped of heat. “One day. If that. After that, this whole city is sealed shut.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Eira did not hesitate.

  She turned sharply on her heel and started back the way she had come, boots splashing through the shallow filth as she moved with purpose.

  “Hey,” Emmett snapped, his voice carrying down the tunnel. “Where the hell are you going?”

  “Bringing someone,” she replied. Her tone was calm, final. “You will tell him what you told me.”

  Her voice was calm but carried an edge that promised no argument.

  Emmett stood there watching her retreat, jaw clenched as her figure disappeared around the bend. He swore under his breath and reached into his coat, pulling free another cigarette. He rolled it between his fingers as if considering it, then brought it to his lips.

  “Worthless,” he muttered.

  The lighter snapped open with a sharp metallic click. Flame flared briefly, casting harsh light across the ruined side of his face before he closed it again. He drew in slowly, smoke curling from his mouth as he stared down at the stagnant water pooling at his boots.

  The city rumbled faintly overhead. Artillery. Closer now.

  He took another drag and shook his head, irritation simmering beneath the surface.

  “You will tell him what you told me,” he muttered to himself, his voice slipping into a poor imitation of her accent. The mockery was thin. Unconvincing. It died quickly in the damp air.

  The silence she left behind pressed in on him, heavy and sour, and with it came a dangerous urge. He could leave the sewers now. Walk back into the daylight, flash the right papers, speak with the right voice. It would be effortless. A few clipped orders, a handful of men with rifles, and Stosstrupp Zwei would be erased before noon.

  It would be satisfying to watch them cut down. Especially now, when Eira had been given an out. When she had dared to bargain.

  He felt the familiar itch beneath his skin, the impulse toward finality, and scowled as he forced it down. This was not how it was supposed to go. He had expected resistance. Expected her to drag Dieter into it. He had planned for that. Needed that.

  Instead, she had turned the table.

  Now he was standing in a sewer beneath a dying city, waiting, committed to moving through Berlin as it tore itself apart.

  His mind shifted gears, working despite his irritation. A new thought surfaced, slow and deliberate, carrying with it the faint promise that this might still be worth the trouble.

  That was when Henri’s voice slipped into his head, soft but edged with caution.

  “I know what you are thinking, mon ami.”

  Emmett huffed quietly. “You don’t know a damn thing,” he muttered.

  “I do,” Henri replied calmly. “And don’t pretend otherwise.”

  Emmett ignored the specter and reached into his coat withdrawing the crumpled packet of Pervitin. He turned it over in his fingers, thumb brushing the edge as he hesitated. The ghosts came more often the heavier he used. He knew that. He also knew that cutting back left him weak, nauseous, trembling in ways that were harder to hide.

  Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

  Damned either way.

  He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and worked a tablet free, rolling it onto his tongue. The familiar bitterness hit immediately. He chewed slowly, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the brick wall across from him as the taste spread. What happened next was unclear even to him. For now, he would let things move. See what presented itself. Take the opening when it appeared.

  He spat onto the sewer floor and tucked the cigarette back between his lips. His hand drifted to the holstered Walther at his hip, thumb brushing the leather in a familiar, grounding motion. He undid the clasp and checked his watch.

  Nearly ten minutes.

  Just as he began to consider leaving, the faint scrape of metal echoed down the tunnel. A manhole cover, shifted carelessly. He did not turn. He kept his gaze on the wall, listening.

  Footsteps approached down the sewer, then the door pushed inward again.

  When the hybrid stepped into view, Emmett’s single eye flicked over him in one smooth assessment. Tall. Broad shouldered. Built like a battering ram. His uniform was disheveled and streaked with grime, sweat darkening the fabric. Golden eyes burned with barely contained fury as he stormed forward, boots splashing through the filth.

  Dieter

  Eira followed a few steps behind him. Her blue eyes darted between them, tension tight in her posture.

  Here we go, Emmett thought, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, humorless smirk.

  The hybrid stopped three feet from him, looming. His presence filling the narrow space, radiating threat. Emmett turned his head just enough to regard him, expression flat and unimpressed.

  “Howdy,” he drawled.

  The growl that answered him was low and unmistakably hostile. The hybrid thrust a piece of paper toward his face, inches away from his nose.

  “Where did you come upon this?” the hybrid demanded. His English was rough, the words bitten off hard.

  Emmett brushed the paper aside with the back of his hand and stood, rising from the crate without haste. He met the hybrid’s gaze head on. There was no fear in his eye. Only sharp, cutting amusement.

  “I looted it from an office.” he replied coolly.

  He stepped closer, just enough to make a point.

  “When I pulled this outfit together,” he continued, tapping his tunic, “I had the pleasure of speaking with your superiors. Confirmed every word.”

  His gaze flicked briefly to the paper, then back to the hybrid’s face.

  “I don’t care if you believe me or not,” Emmett said. His voice hardened. “What I care about is whether you are willing to gamble on it.”

  The hybrid’s golden eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he turned toward Eira. His voice dropped low, tense, and edged with warning as he spoke in German.

  “Can we trust this man?”

  Eira hesitated. Her ears flicked back as she folded her arms across her chest, the motion small but defensive. She met Dieter’s gaze and held it.

  “No,” she said plainly. “But he can help.”

  Dieter studied her for a long moment, searching her face as if hoping to find something she had missed. Then his attention shifted back to Emmett. His eyes tracked over him slowly, taking in the uniform, the posture, the scarred face. Then something clicked.

  Recognition struck hard.

  “You,” Dieter said. His nostrils flared as his mouth fell open slightly. “I know you.”

  Emmett adjusted the collar of his tunic with deliberate ease. “I suppose I have one of those faces.”

  Dieter’s expression darkened. His ears flattened and his lips pulled back just enough to bare his teeth.

  “You are the one we pursued,” he said. “The one who captured Eira.”

  Emmett did not flinch. He met the hybrid’s furious stare without blinking. Silence flooded the chamber, thick and dangerous.

  Eira let out a slow breath and nodded.

  “He is,” she said quietly.

  Dieter turned back to her, disbelief written across his face. “And he is here to aid us?” His voice was tight. “I cannot believe this.”

  “You do not have to,” Emmett said evenly. “I promise you, I am not doing this out of kindness of my heart.”

  He glanced at Eira, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “You did an excellent job filling him in on the details.”

  She shot him a glare, her teeth flashing briefly.

  He ignored her and returned his attention to Dieter.

  “I am handing you over,” he said. “You get to live. In a cage. As test subjects. But maybe my government decides the idea of having their own wolf people is useful.”

  He shrugged faintly.

  “They might even try to make more of you.”

  “And what do you get out of it?” Dieter snapped.

  Emmett’s grin was sharp and humorless.

  “The satisfaction of turning Eira over,” he said. “Same way she did me.”

  He paused, then continued more coldly.

  “And I complete the mission that put me here in the first place. Bag one of you so the Allies can find Vollmer.” His eye flicked briefly to Eira. “So, instead of killing her, I offer a nice shiny cage for her and all of you to walk into.”

  Dieter stared at him, chest rising and falling as fury warred with exhaustion. Slowly, his breathing steadied. He leaned back against the damp brick wall with a low, defeated groan.

  “Cigarette,” he said in German.

  Emmett’s eyebrow twitched as he realized the request was directed at him.

  “Get your own,” he snapped.

  “Emmett,” Eira said sharply. “Give him a cigarette.”

  Emmett scowled and muttered a curse under his breath. After a moment, he reached into the coat of his stolen uniform and pulled free a crumpled pack. He held it out toward Eira with exaggerated reluctance.

  Dieter took one without acknowledging him and placed it between his lips.

  Before Eira could ask for a light, Dieter produced his own. The small flame flared briefly, illuminating the sharp lines of his lupine features. His hand trembled as he lit the cigarette, but he masked it well. He inhaled slowly and exhaled a stream of smoke that mingled with the sewer’s stench.

  Emmett watched him closely, his expression hard, his mouth curled in a faint sneer. Eira noticed and extended her hand toward Emmett, palm open. A silent demand.

  Dieter stood silent for a long while, smoking. His gaze remained fixed on the brick wall across from them, eyes unfocused, as though he were staring through it rather than at it. The cigarette burned down between his fingers unnoticed until the heat finally kissed the fur along the back of his hand. He flinched slightly. With a quiet hiss he pulled the cigarette away, glanced down at the singed fur, and took one last drag.

  His breath shuddered as he exhaled, the smoke curling lazily upward before dissolving into the foul air. He flicked the butt to the ground and crushed it beneath his boot.

  Only then did he turn to Eira.

  “Do you see an alternative?” he asked softly.

  She hesitated, then shook her head. A long sigh slipped from her chest, heavy with exhaustion.

  “I do not,” she said. There was regret in her voice, raw and unguarded. “Unless we wish to die out as a species. I am terrified, Dieter. Truly. But I see no another choice.”

  He nodded slowly, accepting the answer even as it cut deep. His gaze shifted to Emmett. His expression settled into something neutral, but beneath it lay wariness and restrained tension, the look one gave a coiled viper that had not yet struck.

  “Will your government make more of us?” Dieter asked carefully. “Do you know?”

  Emmett considered him for a moment before answering.

  “Haven’t the foggiest,” he said. “All I know is they want the man who made you. That is it.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just a glorified dog catcher.”

  Dieter absorbed that, then turned back to Eira. “You intend to warn the others?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Ja. At least the ones Vollmer raised directly. I want to save the others as well, but you know as well as I do that most of them are too loyal to the Reich.”

  Dieter nodded once, as if confirming something he had already known. His attention drifted back to the wall. He fell silent again, the drip of water echoing around them as seconds stretched thin.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “We need to move quickly,” Dieter said. “There is much to do and very little time.”

  He straightened and looked from Emmett to Eira, then back again. His shoulders sagged slightly as he exhaled, his expression softening when his eyes settled on Eira.

  “We are trading one master for another,” he said quietly.

  Dieter then cleared his throat and turned back to Emmett.

  “The communique mentioned a list,” Dieter said. “Known locations of other Sturmwolf units. Do you have those documents?”

  Emmett reached into his tunic and withdrew several folded papers. He held them up briefly before extending them.

  “This was dated a few days ago,” he said. “You know as well as I do they have probably moved.”

  Dieter accepted them, nodding. “Ja. But if it lists the units they are attached to, we can begin there.”

  Emmett shoved the papers into his hand and let out an irritated breath. “Knock yourself out.”

  Dieter ignored the remark and scanned the pages quickly, eyes moving with practiced speed.

  “I know many of these,” he murmured. “I know many names on this list, Eira,” Dieter said, passing the papers to her.

  His golden eyes lingered on Emmett, jaw tight, nostrils flaring faintly. For a long moment he studied the one-eyed man standing before him, measuring him without words.

  “What is the plan?” Dieter asked quietly.

  Emmett huffed. “We find the units. I present myself as a sympathetic officer. Eira acts as mediator.”

  “She will not go with you.” Dieter suddenly said, the words landing hard.

  Emmett’s eye snapped to Dieter, his expression twisting into open fury.

  “If I fucking help, she fucking…”

  “I will go with you,” Dieter interrupted calmly. His tone was steady. Final. As if the decision had already been made.

  Emmett froze.

  The unfinished words hung between them, sour and stale in the damp air of the sewer. For a heartbeat he did not move at all. Then he blinked once, slow and deliberate, and gave a short nod. His face settled back into something unreadable, the mask snapping into place without effort.

  Eira stared at Dieter, confusion flickering across her features before tightening into concern.

  “Will it matter, Dieter?” she asked quietly. The question slipped out before she could harden it, her voice carrying a rare, unguarded vulnerability.

  Dieter’s golden eyes softened as they met hers. Just slightly. Enough to hurt.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “It matters.” He drew in a steady breath. “I do not want you spending another moment alone with this man.”

  Eira opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Her ears dipped back as she searched his face, reading the resolve there and the fear beneath it.

  Dieter stepped forward.

  He closed the distance between himself and Emmett in three measured strides. The space tightened instantly, the air between them charged and brittle. Their eyes locked. Dieter’s gaze was cold now, stripped of hesitation, sharp with intent.

  “Is that satisfactory?” he asked.

  The words were not loud. They did not need to be.

  Emmett regarded him for a moment, head tilting slightly as if considering a curious insect. Then one corner of his mouth lifted.

  “Sure,” he said, shrugging lightly. His tone was careless, almost bored. “Works for me.”

  Dieter held his stare for another long second, as if committing the man to memory. Then he stepped back, posture stiff, shoulders squared as if bracing himself against the weight of what he had just done.

  He turned to Eira immediately.

  “We do not have much time,” he said, urgency threading his voice now. “Once we have found them, where do we go?”

  “I know a spot,” Emmett said.

  He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded map, the paper soft and worn from use. He stepped closer and held it up into the cone of light cast by Eira’s flashlight. The lines and markings jumped into sharp relief, pencil strokes layered over older print.

  “It’s the basement of an old apartment building,” he continued. “Only way in is through the sewer. Most of the structure collapsed in on itself about a week ago.” He tapped the page with a blunt finger. “It sits far enough off the main lines that no one bothers with it anymore, but close enough that we can reach it if we move smart.”

  Dieter straightened to his full height, his broad frame throwing a long shadow across the damp brick wall.

  “Very well,” he said. “Then we must return to our squad.” His gaze sharpened. “Will you be able to convince our commander that we have been reassigned?”

  Emmett’s eye narrowed.

  “Why bother?” he asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

  “Because we must explain our absence,” Dieter replied evenly. “And because we will need our weapons.”

  Emmett worked his jaw, considering it. The steady drip of water echoed around them as seconds passed.

  “Yeah,” he said at last. “I can probably pull something together. I’ll need to get back to the administration building and draft something that looks official.”

  Dieter nodded once. “That will suffice.” He turned slightly toward Eira. “I will escort her to the rendezvous. After that, you and I begin.”

  “Dieter, I should come with you,” Eira said immediately.

  He shook his head.

  “Nein,” he said firmly. “I would prefer you be out of harm’s way.” His gaze softening just a fraction.

  She frowned but did not argue further.

  “I can reach the basement on my own,” she said after a moment. “As long as I have the map.”

  Emmett passed it to her without comment and turned toward the iron door set into the alcove wall. He gripped the handle and pulled the hinges protesting softly as it swung open.

  “Then let’s move,” he said gruffly. “We need to make one more stop after this is sorted. I’ve got additional maps and gear where I’ve been staying.”

  Dieter stepped close and placed a steady hand on Eira’s shoulder, guiding her toward the exit. The contact was brief but grounding.

  The two hybrids followed after Emmett leaving the alcove behind, boots splashing softly through the filth as they headed back toward the surface. Their footsteps echoing down the tunnel as the distant thunder of artillery could be heard above and the groan of a city tearing itself apart.

  -SABLE