Schmidt stopped. “Yes?”

“I think it would be best if we talked privately.”

Schmidt glanced at the other soldiers, who had stopped to wait for him. “Can you… give me a minute?”

“You guys go on ahead,” Rob said to Greg, Marvin, and Rolf. “I’ll wait for Barry and we’ll meet you at the barracks. Or the western wall, depending on how long Barry’s minute takes.”

“Good deal,” Greg said. “We will ensure this order arrives in Lieutenant Olbrich’s hands posthaste.”

Schmidt glanced at Rob, who nodded in response as Schmidt closed the door to Bösch’s office again.

It was quiet now, only the two of them in the room. Bösch was standing behind his desk, his hands clasped in front of him, looking at Schmidt. Schmidt simply stood at the door.

He knew what Bösch wanted to talk about; he had wanted to talk about it for a long time, too. He had thought about how the conversation would go many times, but that didn’t make him any less nervous.

“Come on in,” Bösch said awkwardly.

Schmidt made his way to the desk.

They looked at each other for a few moments, their faces cast in shadow, the dying fire reduced to mere ashes. The window behind Bösch’s desk was battered by the rain, the world outside pitch black. Schmidt could almost hear his heart beating in his chest.

“Sofia’s in the city,” he said simply. “You should speak with her… Before whatever is about to happen happens.”

It had been years since he spoke with his sister, and months since he had written to her. With a sudden shock, he realized that the last letter he had sent her was a few days before the Bean attack on Dijon. He couldn’t remember exactly what he had written in his last letter, but he knew what it was probably about; sacrificing himself, dying for the greater good, being glad that something, anything was finally happening.

Though he tried many times, he couldn’t remember why he had felt that way.

It was only a few months ago, but it felt like it had been a lifetime since he thought about sacrificing himself. He couldn’t remember the reason why he wanted to do so in the first place.

No, it was never actually about sacrificing himself; he had just wanted to die. The reason he became a soldier in the first place was because he wanted an easy way out. With all the fighting in Cologne, he wouldn’t have any trouble finding a battle. Sacrificing himself was merely a way for him to justify his suicide.

He never did get to fight in Cologne before Bösch’s company was transferred to Dijon. He never saw what a real battle was like, at least not a real battle against other humans.

Watching his fellow soldiers die outside Dijon broke something within him. Perhaps he would’ve felt the same way watching them get gunned down by muskets and cannons instead of being suffocated with beans; either way, on the morning of November 8th, he finally knew what true terror was.

And knowing true terror for the first time revealed something to him. He was a coward. He had nothing to live for, yet he was too afraid to die. The only things that remained in his life after the Beans attacked were his family and his friends, and he seemed to do everything in his power to push them as far away as possible.

He knew he should have been civil with Bösch when they spoke on the night after the Bean attack, he knew he should have met with Sofia after bringing the bean sample to Stuttgart, but he couldn’t. Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, he felt as though he would only hurt them if he let them see the real Barnabas Schmidt, a man controlled by his fear and anger.

He knew he should have been a better friend to Rob, the one person that had stayed by his side through everything, but he couldn’t. They had both nearly died that day, they had both lost Jakob that day, but something within him told him that it didn’t matter. He felt as though he would only disappoint Rob if he let him see the real Barnabas Schmidt, a true coward.

The worst part was that he knew he had to stop. He watched himself destroy the few good things that remained in his life, hurting the few people that truly cared for him. He watched, a prisoner within his own body, knowing that he had to stop.

And yet, he continued.

“Barnabas?” Bösch asked.

Schmidt was crying now. He thanked God that the fire was dead, that Bösch wouldn’t see him like this; but that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it?

He felt something else break inside him, but this time, he knew it was for the best. “You abandoned us, Uncle Humbert,” he said before he knew what he was saying, not worrying about hiding himself or his emotions. “All of you, you all abandoned us. Father, mother, you… Everyone left me to look after Sofia… I was terrified…” The tears fell freely, flowing down his cheeks. He wasn’t just crying now; he was sobbing, his sobs deep and uncontrollable. Even if he could control them, he didn’t think that he would. “Sofia wouldn’t stop crying, she didn’t understand, I had to take care of her while we lost everything, everything but the clothes on our back taken from us, and she wouldn’t stop crying, I couldn’t sleep at night, listening to her call for mother, call for father, she would call out in her sleep, and all I could think was why, why did they go, where were you, why did you go too, then I would spend the rest of the night thinking about what we would eat next, would we even find anything before we starved, or was I going to let us die, hungry and alone?” He paused, realizing something that he hadn’t before. His sobs had slowed, and he felt as though the weight of the world had begun to be lifted from his shoulders. “And then you came back, and I didn’t know why… I knew there was a catch, that you wanted something from us, but we didn’t have anything… I thought that you wouldn’t have come back unless you wanted—”

Bösch hugged him.

And he was crying too.

“I know… I know… I know…” Bösch said between deep gasps. “I’m sorry, Barnabas. It’s my fault that you and Sofia were hurt so badly, I was a fool, more preoccupied with a stupid war and earning medals and honors than my friends and family… I left my men scattered and broken throughout the northern Empire so I could earn the honors I needed to tell myself I was a good man… I left Jonah and Emilia to rot so I could be the one to go down in history as the man who ended the Cologne War… I left you and Sofia to starve so I could satisfy my own twisted ego… No one deserved it, least of all you.”

Schmidt hugged him back. They were both crying, though their breathing had steadied.

“You suffered because I’m broken, Barnabas. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“You’ve changed… I know you have. The old Uncle Humbert would’ve defended Dijon, whatever the cost. I’ve heard the stories, I know what you were like. You’re not broken any more. You’ve changed.”

“And you’ve changed, too. The old Barnabas wouldn’t have stayed to talk.”

Schmidt snorted. “Or I would’ve just made things worse.”

Bösch chuckled. “That you would’ve.” They stopped hugging, taking a step away from each other. “I take it that you’re going to see Sofia, then?”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t see her before… whatever’s happening next.”

Bösch returned to his desk and began writing on a spare piece of parchment. “Whatever ends up happening… keep her safe. Please.”

“I promise I’ll do everything I can.”

“And no more talking about sacrificing yourself. She never liked that.”

“That was the old Barry.”

Bösch retrieved something from his desk before handing Schmidt the spare piece of parchment. “I wrote directions to Sofia’s lodgings. She shares it with two other families, so keep that in mind when you arrive.” He handed Schmidt a sealed letter. “And this… I wrote this after the party in January. I was considering sending it to you multiple times, but… I was never able to work up the courage. I want you to read it after everything calms down. Please, Barnabas.”

Schmidt took both. “I promise.”

He paused for a moment before giving Bösch one final hug and making his way to the door.

He paused again, his hand stopping at the doorknob.

He turned, facing Bösch, and smiled. “And please, uncle… Call me Barry.”