Soldiers sat in small clusters, their voices low, laughter absent. The air smelled of stale bread and candle wax.

At a corner table, away from the lamplight, sat Reiner Braun. His broad shoulders were hunched forward, a half-eaten bowl of stew growing cold in front of him.

He wasn't eating. He was watching the door.

Waiting.

The scrape of a chair broke the silence. Connie Springer dropped down across from him with a heavy sigh.