Bruno stood alone in his study, the late afternoon sun casting sharp lines across the polished wood of his desk.
The folder before him bore no name, only the imperial seal and a long-faded clearance stamp. It was older than many of the officers who now served under his command.
The edges were yellowed, the binding brittle, but the contents within burned as vividly as the day they were sealed.
He had avoided this day for over twenty years.
He adjusted the stiff collar of his uniform. It was unusual for him to wear it at home, let alone the full dress grays.
But today was not a day for comfort. Today was a day for ceremony, not for the Reich, but for a man.
Erich.
The fire crackled in the hearth behind him, but he felt no warmth. His hand hovered above the folder, fingers flexing as if uncertain whether to draw a sword or a quill. Finally, he opened it.
Typed reports, blood-smeared memos, grainy surveillance photographs, signed kill orders.
