"That must be Mr. Muller," General Eichmann said when a knock sounded at the front door. Standing to his feet, he disappeared into the foyer.

Josef had picked her up at 5:15 and they'd arrived at the Eichmann's residence just in time for cocktail hour. They'd been greeted at the door by a tall, skinny woman who'd introduced herself as Mrs. Eichmann.

Her face was thin, her prominent cheekbones holding a hint of rosiness from the rouge she'd dusted them with, contrasting sharply against her alabaster skin. Her golden hair was flecked with streaks of silver, and was pinned back into an elegant updo. A string of pearls adorned her neck, pairing nicely with the navy blue pencil dress she wore. She was beautiful, and Mila wondered how old she was. Despite the subtle graying of her hair, she didn't look a day over forty.

"Would you like another dear?" Mrs. Eichmann asked, pulling Mila out of her thoughts.

"Oh, yes please," She nodded, glancing down at the empty martini glass she held in her hands. "Thank you."

"Mr. Muller," She heard General Eichmann's voice from the entrance of the sitting room. "This is Captain Josef Fischer, head of security."

"Captain Fischer," A thick German accent, who she guessed belonged to Heinrich Muller, spoke.

"Nice to meet you sir," Josef replied.

Turning around, she froze as her eyes fell on Mr. Muller. She'd seen him before ... Seen those eyes before. She'd never be able to forget them. Those green eyes staring at her now, were the same eyes that had looked over her father's and brother's lifeless bodies after they'd been shot, and Heinrich Muller had been the one to pull the trigger. She was pulled abruptly back to reality by the sound of shattering glass. Looking down at her feet, she saw the martini glass she'd been holding seconds before, splintered into several pieces across the hardwood.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Eichmann asked, touching Mila's arm.

"I'm so sorry!" She began, shaking away the sinking feeling growing within her stomach. "I-I...," She attempted to come up with an explanation but trailed off. Every eye in the room was on her, including Heinrich Muller's.

"Oh, it's quite alright," Mrs. Eichmann waved her off. Grabbing the tea towel from the bar cart, she began picking up the broken pieces. "Plenty more where that one came from," She reassured her.

"And who might this be?" Heinrich Muller asked.

"This is Mila Vanderwall," General Eichmann replied. "My typist and a friend of Captain Fischer's."

"Vanderwall," Mr. Muller repeated with mild interest. "So you're from Holland, yes?"

"Yes sir," She replied, focusing all her energy on holding the hand she'd extended to him steady.

"Well," He said, accepting her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Vanderwall."

"Likewise," She nodded, mustering her best smile.

"Here you are dear," Mrs. Eichmann extended another Martini to her. "Fresh drink, good as new ... Can I offer you anything Mr. Muller?"

"Whatever you have Mrs. Eichmann," Mr. Muller replied with a pleasant smile. "I'm not partial."

"Scotch it is then," She grinned. "Arthur, why don't the four of you go ahead and take a seat at the table, dinner won't be much longer." With that she disappeared into the kitchen.

"So," Josef began as they all took their seats at the table. "How long is your visit with us Mr. Muller?"

"Just long enough to write up a report I'm afraid," Mr. Muller replied, accepting the glass of Scotch Mrs. Eichmann had brought him. "There's much work still to be done on the Eastern front, what with the situation in Stalingrad."

"What's being done to remedy that situation?" Josef asked, unfolding the napkin on his place setting as Mrs. Eichmann brought out a shimmering, crystal bowl filled with salad.

"There's concern that the recent surrender of the Sixth Army might instill some sort of morale in the Soviets," Mr. Muller began, nodding in thanks as Mrs. Eichmann filled his salad bowl. "Possibly enough to result in an advancement of the Red Army into German territory ... Considering the majority of ghettos are stationed at the border, they'll need to be evacuated immediately."

"What will you do with all the people?" Mrs. Eichmann asked pleasantly, taking her seat at the table once everyone else had been served.

"Well we certainly can't risk Soviets coming in and liberating entire communities of undesirables," He chuckled, as if it was some sort of joke. "They'll be resettled at more centralized locations like Auschwitz or Treblinka,"

"Surely those camps don't have the capacity for such a large number of people," Josef commented.

"Population control measures will certainly have to be enacted," Mr. Muller said callously. "Those too young to work ... The old and sick..." He was interrupted by the sound of chair legs scraping across hardwood as Mila stood abruptly to her feet.

"I'm sorry," She gave a quick apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well ... If you'll excuse me." With that, she turned and exited the dining room.

"My apologies ... I shouldn't be discussing such things in mixed company," She heard Mr. Muller say after she had already rounded the corner into the hallway. "I hope I didn't give the poor girl too much of a fright."

Shuffling down the hall, she opening the bathroom door and slipped inside, pressing her back against the cold wood once she had locked herself inside. Falling to her knees over the toilet, she vomited, retching a few more times until the vomiting turned to dry heaving. Bracing herself against the toilet bowl, she pushed herself back against the door, drawing her knees up to her chest. She let out a choked sob, tears beginning to sting her eyes as she cradled her head in her hands. It felt as though there was a 100 pound weight sitting on her chest. She couldn't breathe ... couldn't move ... couldn't see. The walls of the bathroom felt as though they might swallow her up as her vision began to tunnel, her lungs screaming for the oxygen her short, rapid breathing was depriving them of.

She needed to stay calm. Needed to slow her breathing down. Closing her eyes, she sat up straight, pressing her index fingers into her temples. 'In through your nose, out through your mouth,' She thought to herself, the tingling sensation that had developed in her fingertips dissipating with every deep breath she took. Slowly, she opened her eyes and pulled herself to her feet. Bracing herself against the bathroom counter she stared at herself in the mirror, willing herself to stay calm as she wiped the watery tears that had yet to brim over, from her eyes. Taking one last deep breath, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands before quickly exiting the bathroom.

"Are you alright?" Josef asked, standing to his feet when she reentered the dining room.

"Yes, of course," She have them all a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what came over me," She sat down after Josef had pulled her chair out for her. "I just felt faint all of the sudden."

"Do eat something dear," Mrs. Eichmann nodded fervently. "That's probably what it is. You've barely touched your plate."

"Yes," She nodded, forcing another halfhearted smile. "That's probably it."

"Are you alright?" Josef asked once they had said their goodbyes and had left the Eichmann's.

"I'm fine," She nodded. "Just tired."

"Are you sure?" He pressed, his eyebrows furrowed in a concerned wrinkle. "You were either ghost white, or as green as the olive in your martini all evening."

"I'm sure," She reassured him. "I just need a good night's rest is all."

"Well let's go home then," He said, slipping an arm around her waist as they walked down the sidewalk, to his car.

"I think I'll stay at my place tonight ... If that's okay," She said, stealing a glance at his expression.

"Alright ... I'll drive you home then," He replied casually, seemingly unbothered by her decision to stay at separate places for the night. Something told her it bothered him more than he was letting on though. Opening the passenger door for her once they'd reached the car, he closed it behind her and walked around to the driver's side. "It's probably for the best," He said once he'd gotten in and started the car. "I should get to bed too ... I have an early morning at the office."

"On a Saturday?" She asked. "I thought you'd filed your report already?"

"I have," He nodded. "Mr. Muller wants details of any attack on German servicemen in the last six months though. There's a few boxes of evidence that've been collecting dust in the archives, and General Eichmann wants me to catalog it for him."

"I see," She nodded absentmindedly, watching out the window as they passed the dimly lit storefronts of downtown, the street lamps casting a hazy glow over them, through the fog.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She heard Josef ask, pulling her out of the trance she'd been in. Touching the hand that sat in her lap, he squeezed it lightly. "You seem distant."

"I'm alright ... Just-,"

"Tired," He cut in, finishing for her. He didn't look convinced though.

"I promise," She nodded earnestly. Interlacing her fingers with his, she squeezed his hand. It wasn't just exhaustion after a long week though. Luckily, Mr. Muller hadn't been interested in a nightcap after dinner, and they'd been able to leave shortly after eating. The sickening feeling wrenching her insides hadn't dissipated in the least though, and she still felt the urge to throw up what little dinner she'd managed to choke down that evening.

It was as though she'd been transported back in time when she'd met the piercing green eyes of Heinrich Muller. The same terror and agony had washed over her, chilling her to the bone just as it had that warm, July day.

She'd wanted to run ... Run as fast as she could away from the waves of pain that had threatened to drown her. Away from the gripping fear that she would suffer the same fate as her father and brother, at the hands of the monster who sat across the table from her. That's what he was. A monster. Only a monster could speak so casually - so callously - about murdering thousands of innocent people over a salad course.

That wasn't it though, was it? Coming face to face with her father's and brother's murderer had been jarring certainly, but it wasn't the only thing worrying her. Truthfully, she'd been troubled by something for the better part of that week, though she was only now beginning to admit it to herself. The exhaustion ... The waves of nausea that seemed to come out of nowhere ... She'd tried to put it out of her mind ... Had tried to chock it up to stress. But when her cycle hadn't come by the end of the week, it had confirmed the thing she'd been denying ... The thing she'd desperately wanted to be untrue. She was pregnant.