He had, in a sense, avenged Charlotte and Klein as well. Come to think of it, he had not properly spent time with Charlotte and Klein in a long while.
When the fighting had been at its most urgent, he had placed them in the safest place possible—the bank's underground level. He knew it was secure, yet a thread of worry had always lingered in his heart. Now that he had half a day of rare leisure, that longing became all the clearer.
When Karl arrived, Charlotte was playing with Klein in an open space. Wrapped in a warm cotton-padded coat, Klein swayed unsteadily as he tried to grab a colorful ball of yarn from his mother's hand. Little babbling sounds escaped his mouth, while his sapphire-blue eyes shone with concentration and joy.
Mother and son basked in the morning light, dust motes dancing through its beams. The scene was so peaceful it felt unreal, utterly out of place against the iron and death of the world beyond.
Charlotte spotted him first. She raised her head, her short golden hair nearly translucent in the halo of light. A flicker of surprise appeared on her face before melting into a small, genuine smile, like spring ice beginning to thaw.
"How do you have time to come over?" she asked softly, setting down the ball of yarn and brushing the dust from her hands.
Karl walked over and, as naturally as breathing, bent down to gently hug his son first. Klein carried the pleasant scent of milk and sunshine. When Karl picked him up, the child curiously grabbed at his collar with his tiny hand. Only then did Karl look at Charlotte, his gaze gentle. "Yesterday, I sent some troops to pay Harald a visit. Things got a little loud—I imagine he