Description: Zara froze, each word of his puncturing her skin. A spy. An execution. She tried to breathe, but the air wouldn't come fast enough. Was her uncle safe? Had he gotten arrested? He had been so cautious these last eight years, but when it came to the Nazis no one was ever truly safe.She had to find out who the spy was. Zara wanted to run to the square immediately, but she forced herself to wheel her cart back into the utility room. She had to act like a humble hausmeister for another few minutesshe couldn't let anyone get suspicious. After she pulled off her apron, she found the nearest exit and broke into a sprint once the academy was behind her, passing the tea shop and the Nazi Women's Charity League, which was gathering old coats and shoes for an orphanage. Hundreds of people had lined the streets already, a sea of pale-faced men and wide-eyed women, Germans and laborers mixed together. No one had seen an execution in years. Please, please let Uncle Red be all right, Zara thought desperately. A cloud of tears stormed into her eyes. She hadn't even waved good-bye to him that morning. She should have kissed him on the cheek, told her that she loved him. She urged her legs faster. Weaving from left to right, Zara squeezed through the throng until she neared the stage in the square. Two dozen soldiers had spread over the stage, standing shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall of guns and muscle. Zara had to stand on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the spy. Not Uncle Red. Please, not Uncle Red, she repeated over and over in her head. She strained her neck until she saw a sliver of the spy's face. Zara's throat cinched like a belt.

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