The bell of St. Vitus struck twice just before dawn.
Inside a tucked-away room of Hradčany Castle, a map lay pinned across a walnut table.
It was older than the war, older even than the republic itself.
The names were written in German, the borders drawn in imperial red.
Someone had circled Eger, Cheb, and Děčín with graphite.
General Syrový entered without knocking.
Beneš looked up from the window.
"There's been another breach," Syrový said.
Beneš nodded slightly. "Border?"
"No. Here. Ministry of Transport."
He set down a folder.
"Their rail schedules. Week-old but accurate. And now printed in a Berlin newspaper as proof of 'militarization.' They're watching our trains move and calling it an invasion plan."
Beneš didn't respond immediately.
Then.
"How many knew the contents?"
"Six, maybe seven."
"And now the world knows?"
"No. Only the parts of it that want to."
Beneš's hand curled into a fist against the window frame.
