Chapter 25 INGA #2
Gideon blushed, actually blushed, and grabbed his uniform, which he must have stashed, pulling it on quickly, urgency replacing every gentle moment we'd shared in the sky.
"We need to get the others," he said. "Now."
I nodded. His hand found mine, warm and grounding, and we hurried through the dim streets to Elke's building. My heart nearly burst when Axel flung the door open the second we knocked.
"You're back!" he gasped, voice breaking. "And you… you found Klaus!"
Before I could answer, Hilde peeked out from behind him, wide-eyed and smudged and so heartbreakingly small. Then she darted forward, grabbing the hem of my dress like she was afraid I might vanish again.
"We're going someplace safe," Gideon told them. "All of us."
Elke stared at him like he was a fairy tale stepping into her flat, like she wasn't sure he was real.
"You're the American," she whispered. "The… fiancé."
Her eyes flicked between us, confused and hopeful and a little jealous.
"I'll keep everyone safe," Gideon said gently. "Thank you for watching them."
She nodded, stunned. But not too stunned to ask, "Do you have… a friend by any chance?"
Gideon gave her a small smile, but he didn't answer other than to wave goodbye and usher us outside again—me, Klaus, Axel, and Hilde—all following Gideon like he was some kind of guardian angel in a leather jacket.
We took a taxi and crossed into Charlottenburg, the heart of the British sector.
The devastation thinned here, still present, of course, but the buildings stood straighter, the sidewalks clearer.
Shops along the Kurfürstendamm had lights again.
A tram rattled by. A café with boarded windows had a handwritten sign promising Kaffee-Ersatz tomorrow morning.
The taxi stopped. Gideon helped us out, and my eyes fell on a sign, Hotel am Zoo.
A real hotel. With intact windows that glowed warm, golden light across the street. With polished brass fittings. With a doorman in an immaculate coat, opening the door for two well-dressed women who looked like they belonged in another world entirely.
My breath broke.
"Gideon," I whispered, grabbing his sleeve, "we can't go in there. People like us—this is for diplomats, officers, rich people, not—"
"You're with me," he said softly.
Those three words nearly undid me.
Inside, the lobby glittered. Marble floors reflected light from crystal chandeliers. The scent of polish and clean linen wrapped around me like a memory of childhood, before hunger, before fear, before everything fell apart.
Hilde hid behind my skirt, overwhelmed. Axel stared open-mouthed, and Klaus's hand trembled in mine.
Gideon walked to the desk like he belonged there. Like he'd done it a hundred times before.
"Suite, please," he told the clerk.
The man blinked at the three children, and at me in my patched dress, then looked back at Gideon's confident expression and American uniform.
"Yes, sir," he said quickly. "A large suite."
Keys and money changed hands, the clerk nodded quietly, and a bellboy appeared from out of nowhere, leading us toward a pair of metal doors, where he pressed a brass button. I jumped a little when the doors slid open with a soft, mechanical sigh.
Inside was a tiny room lined with polished brass and mirrored panels. A velvet mat softened the floor. Warm light glowed from a little domed lamp overhead.
An elevator.
A real elevator.
I hadn't stepped into one since before the war, since the days when Mutti used to take me to clean apartments in the upscale district, and I'd watch the doors open and close with wide-eyed fascination.
Klaus tugged on my sleeve, staring inside as if it were the gateway to another world.
"Inga," he whispered, "is… is it safe?" His voice wavered.
Axel hovered behind him, trying to look brave, but his eyes were darting around like a cornered animal. Hilde pressed her face against my skirt, terrified and curious all at once.
"It's safe," I assured them softly, though a little knot had formed in my own stomach. "It's just… a lift. A machine that takes us up."
A machine that worked. Here. In this city. In this life.
I swallowed an inappropriate giggle down.
Gideon gestured us forward. "It's okay. I promise."
The bellboy smiled politely, holding the accordion grate open. Klaus stepped in first—cautiously—then gasped when his reflection appeared in the mirrored walls. Axel followed, eyes even wider. Hilde shuffled in with tiny, hesitant steps.
I stepped in last.
The air inside smelled faintly of metal and something sweet, perfume, many different perfumes.
A smell I associated with people who had never known hunger.
The bellboy slid the grate shut, then the outer doors, and with a soft jolt, the elevator began to rise.
Klaus grabbed my hand. Axel gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles went white.
Hilde's eyes got huge, her mouth forming a perfect O.
My own heart thudded. Not with fear, exactly… with something else: wonder, memory, and the shock of comfort after a decade of nothing but survival.
The elevator hummed, climbing steadily. Light shimmered on the polished brass. Our reflections moved with us, four lost souls caught in a golden box, rising higher and higher, as if we were being lifted out of our old lives entirely.
"Inga," Klaus whispered, "we're flying. Again."
This time I let the giggle out—it was a small, incredulous sound—because in a way, he was right.
"It feels like magic," Axel said softly, his voice reverent.
Hilde reached out and touched the mirror, her fingers trembling as she watched her own reflection do the same.
Something tightened in my chest. This wasn't just an elevator.
This wasn't just a lift in a fancy hotel.
This was the first moment—the very first—where I realized Gideon hadn't just rescued us.
He was giving us a new world.
A world with warmth and light and elevators and hope. The elevator came to a gentle stop. A soft chime sounded. The bellboy opened the doors. Warm golden light spilled in again, guiding us forward.
The bellboy led us toward another set of double doors, and when he opened them, more warm air rushed at me, and for a brief instant, I was transported back in time—back to when my father still worked at the firm, when Christmas meant tinsel instead of terror, when we could afford to dream.
The suite was… indescribable. High ceilings with crown molding like lace.
A chandelier dripping with crystal droplets. A sofa upholstered in deep emerald velvet. Carpets thick enough to drown your toes in.
Tentatively, the kids moved forward and put their toes on the carpet. Hilde giggled, and Axel jumped up and down. Klaus took his shoes and socks off and whooped. "It's like stepping on a cloud."
The other two followed his example. Gideon took my hand, and together we watched the mesmerized kids as they explored a room the likes of which they had never seen before.
A silver fruit bowl and tiny paper-wrapped mints stood on a big wooden table, and the kids rushed forward, like kids did on Christmas night. Just a foot before they reached the table, they stopped and, in unison, stared at Gideon and me. He squeezed my hand and waved them on, "Take what you like."
The children didn't need any further encouragement. Like starving animals, they fell over the fruit and mints.
The bellboy cleared his throat gently, the sound delicate, so he didn't interrupt the children's frenzy. "If you'll follow me, Fr?ulein… sir?"
Gideon gave him a nod. "Lead the way."
Klaus, Axel, and Hilde were too busy stuffing grapes and mints into their mouths—and pockets—to notice us stepping away.
I didn't think I'd ever seen children eat fruit with such reverence, as if every bite might disappear if they didn't hold on to it.
Only Gideon and I followed the bellboy deeper into the suite.
He opened a door on the right.
"This is the first bedroom," he announced softly.
I stepped inside and stopped cold. A bed.
A real bed. Large, bright white, with pillows piled like clouds and a comforter so thick it looked sinful.
A wardrobe with polished brass handles gleamed in the corner.
A small writing desk with a lamp sat against the wall, and the light wasn't flickering or dim; it shone steady and warm.
My breath caught. Not because I hadn't seen luxury today—I had. My father's villa had been filled with polished wood, gleaming floors, and rooms designed to impress. But this was different.
This room didn't feel like it was trying to prove something. It didn't loom over me with its perfection. It didn't press down on my ribs with velvet cages and gilded walls. It simply… existed.
Warm.
Clean.
Safe.
Untouched by the war in a way that felt gentle instead of threatening. The bellboy motioned to a second door farther down. "And here is the master bedroom, sir."
This one was even grander. A king-sized bed. Heavy velvet drapes. A balcony with wrought iron railings looking down over the Ku'damm. Another wardrobe. Another chandelier, smaller but still shimmering.
My fingertips brushed the banister on the balcony door. It was cold and smooth and perfect. A life I'd never thought I would see again.
The bellboy continued. "There is also a smaller water closet by the entryway, and—" He paused dramatically, then opened a third door. "—the main bath."
I gasped. It wasn't just a bathtub. It was palatial.
Porcelain, deep enough to drown in. Two brass faucets.
A rack with tiny glass bottles of bath salts and soap in shapes I hadn't seen since childhood.
White towels stacked high like folded snow.
A mirrored cabinet gleamed so brightly it reflected my stunned face with painful clarity.
"Oh… oh," I whispered, hand over my mouth. "It's… beautiful."