Reißer 

Charlotte Reißer tip-toed down the stairs in their apartment building. She didn't want to run into Mrs. Jost, who lived one flight lower. Mrs. Jost had always been suspicious of the Reißers - especially since Charlotte had stopped going to work in the mornings.

Their cover of being 'pregnant' had worked. It had become too risky for Charlotte to head through the streets of Berlin to the theater she worked at without being potentially ratted out by a passerby. Or by the other masters of art themselves. Jan Reißer had come up with the genius idea of saying she was expectant and that it was better for her to stay home due to her age and some health issues he'd made up. Nobody had questioned it, and once again, Eliora Drexel, aka Charlotte Reißer, had successfully secured her safety a little longer.

They'd done an awful lot to cover up her Jewish heritage.

Firstly, she'd changed her identity, which had taken up all their savings for a house or a child-which made it all the more sad and hilarious that they were lying about her being pregnant.

Secondly, her husband had joined every kind of Nazi organization possible. He was in the SS from the start; his SS number was under 50'000, and he'd joined only a few moments after Hitler came to power. He was also a member of the party. Most nights, he stayed late out somewhere in Berlin, drinking beers with his colleagues. Now, he'd received the honorable mission to document Hirt's experiments in the Natzweiler. Who would suspect such a man and his family? Except for their neighbors—nobody.

She made it back up to their apartment without running into a soul. She glanced at the grandfather's clock. The hands told her that her husband should return in an hour. The thought should have soothed her, but it did little to calm her nerves. In the last few days, strange things had happened to her. Late at night, there'd been a knock on her door, and when she'd opened up, there'd been a note folded neatly on the floor. The sender was unknown, and she didn't recognize the handwriting. It had read: Im Bunker hat's nur Platz für Christen. (In the bunker, there's only a place for Christians). It had been scribbled carelessly—it wasn't government. But somebody in their apartment building suspected or knew that she was Jewish. And Charlotte had no idea who. She'd burned the letter; she didn't want her husband to find it. It was probably an empty threat. Even if the Gestapo raided their house, they'd find nothing to prove her heritage was not German, so she saw no need to make her husband worry. Money was short, and if he signed fewer contracts, they'd surely slip into the red.

Another look at the clock told her he should return in a quarter of an hour. She sighed deeply. It was so boring when he was gone. She had nothing to do. Yesterday, she'd gotten a call from the theater asking her to join them for a drink, and she reminded them that she was pregnant. She hadn't slipped up once. Sometimes, it felt like they were testing her more than checking up on her.

A knock rapped loudly against the door. She shot upwards and rushed to the door. It couldn't be Jan—there was no way he'd managed to get from the train station to their complex so quickly. She peeked through the peephole.

She recognized the young man immediately. He was an actor at the theater she'd worked at. A handsome lad. She opened the door and smiled, her hand on her tummy, another little trick to make the pregnancy more believable. "Good evening, Rainer!" She smiled a sweet smile at him.

"Evening, Mrs. Reißer." He responded politely. "How do you do?"

"I'm a bit under the weather, but everything's alright. And yourself?"

"I'm grand, thank you." He smiled that heartthrob smile he'd used to win his way onto Berlin's stage. "May I come inside?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." He stepped in but kept his boots on. A sign he wouldn't stay long. "I wanted to ask you something personally. The director told me I shouldn't disturb you, but I had to ask."

"Of course." Charlotte was a good actress; she'd spent her twenties acting on stage, so Rainer didn't pick up on her nervousness.

"I'm playing the part of Karl Rührfelder."

"It suits you." She praised with a genuine smile.

"Thank you. I'm very thankful I got the part, but tell me—is Karl," he paused and smiled, as if he thought what he was about to say was madness, "Jewish?"