The six German Shepherds padded back into the dim farmhouse one by one, their coats streaked dark with blood. Their chests heaved with exertion, teeth still slick, jaws frothing. One of them, the largest, entered the open doorway dragging something clenched in its maw.
It dropped the grisly trophy at Juana Bormann's boots. A boy's arm — pale, limp, lifeless.
Juana bent slowly, her scarred lips curling into a grotesque smile. She stroked the dog's head, murmuring in German as she rewarded the beast. "Gut gemacht… mein schönes Tier." The shepherd began gnawing at the severed limb, bones crunching faintly in the silence.
Josef Mengele turned to Imel, his eyes shining, waiting for acknowledgment. "They are efficient, aren't they? This is the discipline of blood. Nature selecting the weak."
But Obergruppenführer Imel did not return the smile. He stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, his face stern. His voice cut through the still air.
"This concludes the meeting. The area is compromised."
He gestured at the arm on the floor.
"Whoever that belonged to… their family will investigate soon enough. We will resume our discussion another day."
There was no argument. He strode from the farmhouse, his black leather coat sweeping behind him as an SS vehicle pulled up outside. Lucy was already gone, headed to Paris proper. The car door opened, and Imel climbed in, leaving the others to disperse.
The Village
Back in the small French village, Louis wept in the kitchen of his home. A car pulled up outside — a Wehrmacht truck this time. Schütze soldiers jumped down, rifles slung, boots thudding against the cobblestones. One soldier rushed to open the rear of the truck, while an Unterfeldwebel began barking orders.
"Secure the street! No one in or out!"
Neighbors peered from doorways, whispering anxiously, trying to understand why the German army had descended on their quiet homes.
At the bakery across town, Sophia, 26 years old, wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her raven-black hair was tied back, her figure slender but strong. She had been alone with her younger brother since the German invasion — their parents executed for ties to the Resistance. Only Gridil, their loyal servant and nanny, had remained to help.
The bell above the bakery door chimed. An elderly villager entered, out of breath. He looked at Sophia in shock.
"You are here? Then who is with Louis? German soldiers surround your house — I saw trucks—"
Her face drained of color. She thanked him and bolted out, climbing onto her bicycle, pedaling hard through the cobbled streets until her family's home came into view. Two Wehrmacht trucks blocked the road. Soldiers lined the street, their gray field uniforms immaculate, helmets gleaming.
She abandoned her bike and rushed past them, shoving through until she reached the doorway. Inside, she saw Louis seated on the kitchen table, a Sanitäts-Gefreiter medic crouched beside him, bandaging the boy's arms where fresh scratches bled.
Gridil stood nearby, head bowed, silent tears streaking her face. Across the room stood a tall Wehrmacht officer in his mid-forties — an Oberstleutnant Friedrich Adler, his uniform precise, the eagle-and-swastika insignia polished. His expression was grim, his blue eyes cold.
"Gridil, what happened?" Sophia demanded.
The woman swallowed hard. "I had to call… the house's master."
Before Sophia could reply, the growl of an engine drew attention outside. A black Mercedes 770, the kind reserved for only the highest officers of the Reich, pulled into the driveway. Soldiers snapped to attention.
The rear door opened only after an Oberst Karl Brenner, tall and silver-haired, stepped out crisply in full parade-gray uniform. He turned, saluted, then opened the door for his superior.
From the back emerged a man of middle age, broad-shouldered, with stern features. His uniform was immaculate — the golden epaulettes of a Generaloberst Wilhelm Reichenau, commander of all German forces in occupied France. His medals glimmered faintly, including the Knight's Cross at his collar.
The moment he stepped onto the gravel, soldiers raised their right arms in unison. "Heil Hitler!"
Reichenau entered the house without haste. His eyes scanned the room — noting Sophia, trembling; Louis, wounded; and the medic, who instantly stepped aside.
Reichenau crouched, his boots creaking faintly, his face softening just slightly as he looked at Louis.
"Are your injuries serious?" he asked in his thick Bavarian-accented German.
The medic shook his head. "Superficial, Herr Generaloberst."
Reichenau removed his glove, placed a hand on Louis's shoulder. "Tell me, Junge. What happened?"
The boy recounted everything — the woods, the farmhouse, the SS uniforms, the dogs, his friend who did not return. When he finished, Reichenau's expression hardened again.
"What color were their uniforms?"
"Black," Louis whispered.
Reichenau stood, nodding once. His jaw tightened, but he managed a smile for the boy before turning to Oberst Karl Brenner.
"Outside. Now."
Once in the street, Brenner snapped a salute. Reichenau's voice was low but firm.
"Take Adler and his men. Find the SS responsible. Retrace the boy's path. Scour the woods. If they are still there, destroy them."
Brenner saluted sharply. "Jawohl, Herr Generaloberst."
Moments later, Adler was barking commands, his men grabbing rifles, dogs snapping at their leashes as they pushed into the treeline.
A Dangerous Affection
Inside the house, Sophia sent Louis upstairs to his room. Then, trembling, she turned to Reichenau.
"Why? Why would the SS do this? They almost killed my brother!"
Tears streamed down her face as she buried herself in his chest. Reichenau froze for a moment, then placed a gloved hand on her back. His face softened with memory.
He remembered the outskirts of Paris, the chaos of battle. He had been a divisional general then, wounded, separated from his men. Sophia had found him, hiding in her barn. She had nursed him back to health in secret for nearly a month, long before France surrendered. When the Wehrmacht finally occupied her village, he had been discovered — alive because of her.
Since then, she had reminded him of a gentleness he thought long dead. His wife had been gone for years, but Sophia filled the hollow silence with life again.
"Do not fear," he told her quietly. "I will protect Louis. I will protect you. The SS have overstepped. This is my territory. My word is law here."
The Woods
Oberstleutnant Adler led his men into the forest. The dogs growled, tugging at their handlers. Within minutes, they found it — what was left of the older boy. Adler did not flinch, though several soldiers crossed themselves quietly.
"Mark the site," Adler ordered. "We continue."
Following the trail, the men pressed deeper until they reached the abandoned farmhouse. The dogs howled, pawing at the ground. The soldiers fanned out, weapons raised, preparing to breach.
Paris — Lucy's Web
Lucy, meanwhile, was far from the blood-soaked woods. She was in the grand Olympic stadium, her hands full of notes and reels of film, shadowing Leni Riefenstahl herself. She moved carefully, quietly, absorbing everything — the camera angles, the staging, the manipulation of image.
Day after day, she earned Riefenstahl's trust, anticipating needs, offering sharp suggestions. The director noticed.
At last, Riefenstahl extended an invitation.
"There will be a banquet this weekend," she said, her tone laced with both pride and malice. "To celebrate the Führer's improving health, and Himmler's recovery. You should attend. Spread your wings beyond Obergruppenführer Imel's shadow. There will be… important men there."
Lucy smiled, bowed her head, and accepted. But inside, she understood: this was a test. And an opportunity.
San Francisco — The Nipplin Building
On the opposite side of the world, Sarah Lin settled into her second week of work at the Trade Ministry. She carried out her clerical duties with precision — never too perfect, never too sloppy. She was careful, obedient, invisible.
But not to everyone.
Masao Takeda, Togo's assistant, watched her constantly. He saw details others ignored — the way her eyes darted across documents, the way she remembered things too easily, too neatly. Something about her did not sit right.
Yet every time he raised his concern, Togo dismissed him.
"Let it go, Takeda. I trust her. She wears a crane — a symbol of harmony and longevity. She is meant to be here."
Takeda clenched his jaw but obeyed. The Imperial Family's arrival loomed, and his time was consumed with preparations. At last, he let Sarah slip from his direct suspicion.
Sarah felt the pressure lift from her chest. For the first time, the eyes were off her. She could finally begin her true work.