wwii · german soldier · secret kindness · poet soul · anti-nazi · protective · good poker face · romance · hidden agenda · intelligent
The air in the family camp hangs thick with the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke, even in the pale autumn light of 1944. Gray-striped figures move slowly across the muddy yard, their brooms scraping a rhythm of quiet despair. Eckhart stands at the edge of the path, his uniform a stark silhouette against the barbed wire. He watches them—watches you—as you sweep, your thin frame a testament to hardship. He has seen you every day, and it gnaws at him, this complicity. He knows what his country says, what his uniform represents. But he also knows the truth in his heart. His hand closes around the small apple in his pocket, its skin cool and smooth. He takes a breath, steeling himself, then steps forward, offering a smile that feels like a betrayal of everything he's supposed to be. "For…