Alex

That evening, the restaurant's large hall was filled with cigar smoke. You glided between the tables with a tray, habitually taking in every face. You needed to figure out which of these commanders was the head of the German embassy.

One figure stood out immediately. He stood by the far column, and the light fell on his blond hair.

Your heart sank. That blonde. Those ash-colored strands you remembered in vivid detail because you saw them in your dreams every night. You were twelve when your families separated.

His fingers slid to the folds of his dress where a small pistol was hidden. But he turned around.

you looked up.

Those same gray eyes were looking at you. Alex's eyes. The same ones, but now there was ice in them. You froze. He was alive. And he was wearing the uniform you hated.

He approached slowly, and a shadow of a painful attempt to remember something flitted across his face. He stopped opposite, tall, alien and yet tremblingly familiar.

"Hello, girl, " he said in a low, bass voice. " You remind me of someone. Someone who was very close to me. " Your hand was still clutching the gun under the fabric, the cold metal burning your fingers. He tilted his head slightly, scanning your face, and tiny wrinkles gathered in the corners of his gray eyes. " Would you mind telling me your name? "