Page 42 of The Broken Dawn

"Maybe," Sarah agreed, though her expression said otherwise. "And Mr. Levinsky's brother in Łódź has gone silent too."

Jakob felt the weight of what his mother wasn't saying. The Jewish community in town was small, but connected—a network of shared history and mutual support. If they were worried...

"What are people saying?" he asked quietly.

Sarah's eyes flicked to Rachel, then back to Jakob. "That it's worse than the papers report. That the Germans are targeting Jews specifically." She hesitated. "There are rumors about... lists. Records of who is Jewish, where they live."

"That's just gossip," Rachel said dismissively. "People always exaggerate."

"Like they exaggerated in Russia?" Jakob asked, sharper than he intended.

Rachel flushed. "That was different. This is⁠—"

"The same," Sarah finished quietly. "It always starts the same way, Rachel. For thousands of years. First the rumors, then the restrictions, then..." She didn't need to finish the thought.

"Have there been any incidents here?" Jakob asked, thinking of Christian's cold smile, his talk of "natural hierarchies."

"Nothing direct," Sarah said carefully. "But Mrs. Bergman says some customers have stopped coming to her husband's shop. And there was graffiti on the synagogue door last week."

Rachel pushed her soup away. "That doesn't mean anything. There's always been people like that."

"It means we need to be careful," Sarah insisted. "All of us." She looked pointedly at Rachel. "No more disappearing without telling us where you're going."

"I told you, I was with friends," Rachel said, an edge creeping into her voice. "Important ones. The kind who could help us if things got bad."

"Who are you talking about?" Sarah demanded, her calm facade cracking.

"Just... friends from school." Rachel wouldn't meet their eyes. "And... others."

"Others like Christian Vasa?" Jakob asked quietly.

Rachel's head snapped up, her expression confirmation enough.

"You don't understand," she said quickly. "Christian isn't like what you think. He's interested in big ideas; how the world is changing, how Sweden needs to adapt⁠—"

"Christian Vasa," Sarah interrupted, "is the last person who should be speaking to you." Her voice was steady, but Jakob could see the fear behind her eyes. "About grand ideas or about anything else."

"You don't know him," Rachel insisted. "He's different when we're alone. He listens to me. He says I'm special, that I understand things other people don't⁠—"

"Of course he does," Jakob said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "That's what men like Christian do. They make you feel special while they use you."

Rachel's silence was damning.

"Oh, Rachel," Sarah whispered, her face ashen. "What have you done?"

"Nothing!" Rachel's chair scraped back as she stood. "I haven't done anything. I've just been listening. Learning. Is that so wrong?"

"It is when you're listening to someone who thinks people like us are vermin," Jakob said, his own anger rising. "Christian Vasa doesn't care about you, Rachel. He cares about using you to get to me."

"Not everything is about you, Jakob Eliasberg!" Rachel snapped. "Maybe he sees something in me that you don't. Maybe he understands me better than my own family does."

"Rachel," Sarah began, reaching for her daughter's hand.

But Rachel pulled away. "I'm not hungry," she said, her voice trembling. "May I be excused?"

Without waiting for an answer, she fled the house, stopping only for a moment to grab a scarf and slip on her shoes, leaving the front door to bang closed behind her.

Silence fell, broken only by the gentle sputter of the candles.