September 27th, 1939.
Warsaw surrenders.
The announcement comes through the radio at dawn—Polish command broadcasting the inevitable: The city cannot hold. Terms of surrender are being negotiated. Military forces are ordered to cease resistance and prepare for evacuation or captivity.
In the basement, nobody speaks for a long minute.
Then Marek turns off the radio.
"So. That's it."
"That's it," Jakub confirms quietly.
"What are our orders?" someone asks.
"Evacuate if possible. Reach the eastern border. Regroup with remaining Polish forces."
Marek's voice is flat, exhausted.
"Or stay and become prisoners of war. Your choice."
"Some choice," Walsh mutters.
"It's the only one we have."
Marek looks around the basement at the two dozen people who've fought and bled and survived this long.
"Anyone who wants to try for the evacuation, we leave at nightfall. Small groups, different routes. Better chance that way."
"And if we don't make it?"
"Then we die trying instead of dying in a camp."
Marek pauses.
"I won't order anyone to come. This is volunteer only."
I look at Jakub. He meets my eyes, nods slightly.
We're going.
Of course we're going.
---
The day passes in frantic preparation.
Gather supplies. Check weapons. Plan routes.
Destroy anything that might help the Germans—maps with our positions marked, intelligence documents, names of resistance contacts.
The Project Monarch documents Jakub and I found are hidden in my pack, wrapped in waterproof cloth. Marek wanted to destroy them, but I refused.
Evidence this important doesn't get burned. It gets carried out.
The medallion sits heavy against my chest, tucked inside my shirt.
Cold. Always cold.
The fragments it triggered haven't faded—they're clearer now, more insistent. Voices in languages I don't speak. Faces I don't recognize. Deaths I've died but can't fully remember.
It's maddening and clarifying simultaneously.
Thompson is staying.
His leg wound from yesterday's escape hasn't healed enough for a long journey. Walsh volunteers to stay with him—says someone needs to make sure the stubborn bastard doesn't bleed out.
"Take care of yourself, kid," Thompson tells me.
"You've got something. Don't waste it."
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Do."
He grips my shoulder.
"And if you make it out, remember what we found. Someone needs to know the truth about what's happening in these basements."
"I'll remember."
"Good."
He releases me, turns to Jakub.
"Keep him alive. He's too stupid to do it himself."
"I noticed," Jakub says, grinning despite everything. "I'll try."
We clasp hands. Warriors acknowledging they're probably seeing each other for the last time.
Then we focus on survival.
---
Kasia arrives at noon.
I'm checking my rifle when she appears at the entrance, covered in dust and blood, exhausted but alive.
Relief floods through me so intensely it's almost painful.
She sees me, and something crosses her face—relief matching mine, maybe, or recognition that we're running out of time.
"You're still here," she says.
"Where else would I be?"
"Smart people evacuated days ago."
She moves past me to Marek.
"Final intel. German positions, evacuation routes that might still be open, where resistance cells are trying to gather."
She spreads papers across the crate table, pointing out details while Marek listens intently.
Professional. Focused.
Like she didn't spend a night with me in a ruined building, didn't promise to meet in Kraków when this nightmare ends.
When she finishes, Marek thanks her. "You're evacuating?"
"Trying to. Need to reach the resistance contacts in the east, coordinate what's left."
She pauses.
"What about you?"
"Small groups leaving at nightfall. Rio and Jakub are coming with my group. You should join us."
She looks at me. "You're leaving?"
"Trying to."
"Good."
She turns back to Marek.
"I'll join your group. Have contacts we can connect with if we make it past German lines."
"If?"
"When," she corrects. "When we make it past."
---
We have six hours until nightfall.
Kasia and I end up on perimeter watch together—Marek's assignment or Jakub's meddling, hard to tell which.
We take positions overlooking the street, silent at first, just watching the dying city.
"You found something," she says eventually. "A few days ago. The supply run that went bad."
"How'd you know?"
"Jakub told me. Wouldn't say what, just that it was important. That you nearly died getting out."
She looks at me.
"What did you find?"
I think about lying. Keeping the conspiracy secret like Marek ordered.
But she's risked everything running messages through this hell. If anyone deserves the truth, it's her.
"Nazi research facility," I say quietly.
"Underground. Experimentation on prisoners—medical and occult. We found documents proving Allied intelligence knew about it. Something called Project Monarch tracking Nazi research programs."
Her expression doesn't change, but her hands tighten on her rifle.
"They knew?"
"Knew and wanted to acquire it. Extract the scientists. Preserve the research."
I pull the medallion out, show her.
"Found this too. Some kind of artifact they were studying. It's connected to me. To why I remember things I shouldn't."
She stares at the medallion. "Connected how?"
"When I touched it, I had visions. Past lives. Different wars. All ending the same way—death and return. This medallion was there in all of them."
I tuck it back under my shirt.
"I don't understand it. But it's important. Important enough that Monarch wants it."
"And you're keeping it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if I give it to them, they'll use it. Turn whatever this is into a weapon. Create soldiers who can't stay dead."
The fragments pulse.
"I won't let that happen. Whatever this thing is, whatever it means—I'll figure it out myself."
Kasia is quiet for a long moment.
Then: "When Poland is free again, when we find each other in Kraków—you'll tell me the whole story?"
"If we make it that far."
"When we make it that far."
She touches my face briefly.
"Keep that thing safe. And keep yourself safe. World doesn't need more weapons. Might need more people who refuse to become them."
---
We don't get our goodbye.
At 1600 hours, German artillery opens up.
Not the usual harassment fire—concentrated bombardment, hammering the sector systematically.
"They're clearing the area!" Marek shouts.
"Forcing evacuation or killing everyone who stays! We move now!"
No time for careful planning. No time for night cover.
Just grab everything, move fast, survive if lucky.
Fifteen of us head east.
Marek leads. Jakub and I stay near the middle. Kasia takes rear guard with two other resistance fighters.
We move through streets that are actively being shelled.
Buildings collapse around us. Craters appear where streets were seconds ago.
The world is noise and dust and the taste of cordite.
A shell lands close.
The blast wave throws me into rubble. Ears ringing. Vision swimming.
Someone pulls me up—Jakub, shouting something I can't hear.
I stagger forward. Check myself—nothing broken.
Keep moving.