Moving away from them, she sent one last smile over her shoulder, and then turned back around and let her face drop. Fooling Klaus was sad—he didn’t even consider she was lying. It was like kicking a puppy. But it had to be done. She took a walk around the block before heading to the lab. The locks were a joke—she had helped install the same ones in her office. Their way to ensure no one got into the lab was simply to put more of them, rather than different ones. She banged her feet on the walk outside to shake off any snow. Inside, she made her way to the basement and locked the door behind her. Klaus’ desk was first. It was messy but she knew him, and she could see the order. The papers on the left were documented notes, in order of theory accuracy. On the other side were date-ordered study notes. And, of course, in the middle were the pencils. She rifled through the papers with speed—mostly because it was all numbers and symbols and literal gibberish. The other side was no better. She placed the papers back perfectly and checked the drawers. She was really regretting not having a science degree. Giving up and closing Klaus’ desk, she moved on. Looking at the actual lab work would be no help—that would be even harder to understand than the notes. She picked the next desk and checked it—Aaron’s. Flipping open his medical journal, she flipped through it, and then stopped. “Levitation.” She smoothed the page over, checked the door, and then sat down and picked up the book. Pouring over the page, her eyes widened. The next page was Mat—spontaneously combusting but still fit as a fiddle. Jozef—summoning things to his hands without meaning to. Aaron—invisible epidermis. Ros skipped through the pages, her pulse quickening. If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t believe it in a million years. But it was true, it was real. Whatever they had done, they had done this to themselves. On the last few pages, she found it. “Not fit for human trials.” There was no mention of Mengele. Why would he write that it’s not fit for human trials when that’s exactly what they were doing with it? Unless they didn’t know. They would all have to be as oblivious as Klaus not to see Mengele in here—unless he did exactly what she had done, and come when no one was home. It wasn’t hard and she wouldn’t put it past Mengele to break in and expose his patients. He would do anything to see results. Results for the Nazis, results for the war. If they knew how to control these things, if every soldier achieved this level of activity, it would turn the war immediately. It would be over in seconds. If they had something this big on their side, why wouldn’t they start human trials immediately? The sooner they did the sooner they won. [i]“Not fit for human trials.” [/i] They didn’t know. And they didn’t approve. They had no idea Mengele knew and was using it and that he was seeing results. If things continued like this, if they didn’t find any rash side effects, they would start on the soldiers soon. They would start exposing them without the knowledge or instruction of the scientists and no clue of the lasting effects. Anything that bestowed other-worldly control did not simply attach to human beings with no adverse effects. Humans were not made to do these things. Ros did not need any semblance of a science degree to see the gravity and danger of the situation. She closed the journal and stood, rubbing her eyes. What had they discovered? Carefully, she made her way to the tables. The focus of their work was clear—what she assumed to be the reactor sat in the middle of the room. It was humongous, and in the middle was a glass canister with a small black sphere. Ros squinted her eyes and leaned to look, but she didn’t step closer. She knew better than that. The tink of shattering glass echoed in her head. She understood why he never told her. She understood why he panicked. Ros turned on her heel and strode out of the room, banging the door shut behind her and engaging the locks. She hurried up the steps and out of the Peithman Physics Laboratory. She was shutting the door when she heard the heavy footfalls. Ros spun, excuses light on her lips, and froze. The two of them stood in a frozen silence for a moment, until Ros raised her arm. “Heil Hitler.” Genzken returned the salute. “Heil. Wolff. I see you’re doing your job.” She nodded vigorously, her pulse jumping. “I’m going to need that report early this week, tomorrow morning.” “Sir, it hasn’t even been half a week yet—“ “We’re experiencing some less-than-cooperative behavior and we expect full assistance from you at this time. I need the report by tomorrow morning.” She nodded again, with the feeling of acid in her gut. “Of course, sir.” He gave her a tight smile. “That’s what I like to hear. Gute Nacht.” “Gute Nacht.”