He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire. Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.

Be still. He drew in one more breath and released his grasp on the watch in his pocket.

Still. He forced the rocking of the world, of his thoughts, of his heart to halt and then forced his legs to move him forward. Through the doors. Into the elegant interior of the bank. He took his place in the back of the queue and tried to convince his pulse to stay slow and steady. Tried to convince his heart to hold tight to what his mind knew.

Despite what the Bolsheviks claimed, God was still in His heaven. He was still holding them all in His hand. He would make this war, like all wars, to cease. Zivon’s job, as it had always been, was to be still, steady. To watch. Learn the patterns. So he would know when stillness should give way to action.

“Mr. Marin! Good afternoon.”

Three weeks in England, and still the English words, the English pronunciation of his name, sounded strange to his ears. But he turned and smiled at the tall captain behind him. “Good afternoon, Captain Blackwell.”

As strange as English sounded to his ears, it felt stranger still on his tongue. He spoke it well enough, but it never felt quite right as it emerged, not as his German and Greek and French did. And he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to truly think in it, though he was doing his best. He’d gotten permission from Admiral Hall to spend the first hour of work reading a newspaper, to get his mind accustomed to English words.

The other cryptographers seemed baffled by this practice. He’d be happy to explain his reasoning if anyone ever asked. But they were content to stare and whisper instead.

Captain Blackwell had never looked at him as though he were a display in a museum, at least. “How fortuitous that I’ve run into you.” The captain smiled, and it looked like a lonely shaft of sunlight through the clouds ever-present in his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to ask you to join my family for dinner one evening.”

Zivon’s brows lifted. He hadn’t shared an actual meal with someone in weeks. “I would be delighted, Captain. I thank you. Name the day.”

The captain chuckled. “How’s this evening for you? Another of my guests just cancelled—he’s a bit under the weather, it seems—and my wife does detest an empty seat at the table. But if you already have plans, next week or the week after would work just as well.”