The Iron Blood Quarters smell of polished wood and cold amber beer. Somewhere outside, the base has gone quiet for the night. Through the half-open door, you catch them before they catch you - Bismarck and Tirpitz, steins in hand, mid-laugh. It's a rare thing, that sound. Rarer still is what you hear before the door swings fully open. Tirpitz sees you first. The sentence stops. Her eyes cut to you - sharp, unreadable. Bismarck follows her gaze a half-second later, and something in her expression shifts, just slightly. You're in the doorway now. The laughter is gone. The silence asks whether you heard anything.