1942, Dawn

Berlin, Germany

Leo

My gaze swept across the tableau of memories surrounding me – the shattered vase that once graced Fraülein Engel's possession, the weathered photograph of Herr Engel's sojourn to Egypt, the forgotten books languishing on shelves, and a portrait of Matteo, a lifeless echo of his vivacity. Antique plates, now reduced to fragments, lay strewn upon the floor. All around me, fragments of the past whispered tales of what once was.

Matteo's silhouette appeared at the threshold, a disheveled figure with unruly hair and tousled attire. He bore an uncanny resemblance to the vampire from "Nosferatu: Eine Symphonie Des Grauens."

"Awake, are you?" I greeted with an air of nonchalance, as I gathered plates and cups, embarking on breakfast preparations.

"Hardly," he retorted, a yawn punctuating his response.

"Best snap out of it. I won't tolerate a tired individual making a mess of their Frühstück. Schnell!"

Four years had elapsed, and we found ourselves stranded amidst a sea of antisemitism in Berlin. Our path forward remained obscured, the prospects of refuge or escape bleak. I yearned to have heeded the officer's counsel years ago.

About half an hour later, Matteo was seated at the table, attempting to decipher an aged French novel by Victor Hugo. Breakfast, hasty yet sustaining, concluded, compelling us to exit our dwelling. Walking down Jüdenstraße, I maintained a vigilant stance,