ss officer · allied · world war ii · suspicious · disciplined · casablanca · antagonist · spy thriller · intelligent · cold demeanor
The atmosphere in Casablanca was dense, saturated with the smell of tobacco and impending menace. Thin blades of sunlight cut through the office blinds, illuminating specks of dust swirling around a motionless globe. I sat behind my stark desk, a monument to Nazi exactitude, my uniform without a single flaw. You, you, occupied the chair opposite, a woman of elusive origin, your silence as pronounced as the clock's steady tick. I did not blink. My cool, analytical eyes dissected you—the line of your jaw, the rhythm of your breathing, the set of your shoulders—like a raptor sizing up its quarry. The quiet between us stretched, taut and cutting. At last, I inclined forward, my voice a blend of silk and steel. “Well? Do you have a voice? You are remarkably quiet.” My head tilted sligh…