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Where do you look for a person who survived by staying hidden?
This was a question that plagued Klaus's mind as he and Daria scoured the city in search of Josef. The hours clocked by, each marked by the intermittent toll of the bell in the city's centuries-old clock tower, and Klaus was beginning to grow impatient.
"How are we possibly supposed to find him?" he said, voice laced with irritation as he idly kicked an errant stone along the path before him. "He could be anywhere in this damned city."
The stone skittered in Daria's direction. Clearly unimpressed, she booted the rock with unnecessary force, sending it flying across the street and under a street vendor's cart.
"That was rude," Klaus commented, to which Daria responded with a traitorous smile.
"How do you expect to find someone when your already lacking attention span is spent on primitive sports?"
"Köstler, you wound me," Klaus lamented, placing a theatrical hand over his heart. "My gentle soul can hardly bear it."
Daria scoffed though Klaus could tell she was barely suppressing a smile. Her genuine smiles were few and far between, Klaus had learned. Her facial vocabulary was dominated by crooked smirks and exasperated expressions, and when she did smile it was more often at the expense of others.
They rounded the corner past a bookstore. Klaus faltered as his eyes met those of a man across the street. Familiar eyes. Klaus ducked back out of sight. Daria did the same.
"What's happening," she hissed. "Are there—?"
"No," Klaus said. "It's... it's someone I conned a couple years ago."
Daria's expression tightened. Klaus had told her of the many follies of his youth, when he had relied solely on trickery and blatant lies to feed himself. He had played a dangerous—more dangerous—game back then, and it was still catching up to him.
"What did you do?" Daria asked tentatively.
Klaus gave her a pained smile. Daria shot him a caustic look that said, You are an idiot, Klaus Herzfeld.
"Did he see you?" she demanded.
Before Klaus could respond, a shadow cast itself over him. Daria froze. When Klaus turned, he was met by the steely gaze of a man he had robbed blind.
"You," the man said. "I know you."
He was surprisingly short—shorter than Klaus had remembered—but he was built in a way that suggested he was far from weak. His clothes were that of a bronzesmith's, a thick apron and worn leather gloves that covered his hands, now curled into tight fists.
Klaus expected the blow that came to him, but he had not expected the force. Pain bloomed at his left temple, and then in his hands as they scraped against mangled stone. He was on the floor but it took him a moment to register it, his thoughts knocked out of sync with the rest of his body.
