She was ready for the war to be over. She just wasn’t entirely sure what life would look like when it was. They wouldn’t need her here, and they wouldn’t need her at the hospital much longer, now that male medical personnel were returning to take over. There was no Ivy to plan and laugh with. There were just her forgotten dreams, her camera, her parents . . . and a man who had to be wondering as much as she was what the future would hold.

They’d spoken of everything else—of churches and children and whether they thought it would be a niece or a nephew to be born in Russia in the spring. Of Paris and Moscow and neighborhoods in London where they might be able to find a house for a reasonable price. But he hadn’t asked yet the one question she was waiting for. He hadn’t presented her with a ring, though he had given her a strap for her camera, so she could sling it around her neck, which she’d proclaimed far better than jewelry.

He hadn’t said a word about what he meant to do professionally when the war ended. He would have a plan—Zivon always had a plan. But he’d also be listening for the Lord to direct his path. Would they stay here? Or would he instead feel the call to accept one of those teaching positions in America that were still open to him?

Wherever the Lord called, she’d be there. By his side.

She twisted her head so she could smile up at him. “Let’s go.”

He nodded, though his eyes were on the photograph rather than her. “This really is remarkable, milaya. The admiral will be pleased.”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked, smiling as Mama chattered behind them over how ready she was to be able to plant flowers in the garden again instead of vegetables. “I daresay I shall have it positively gorgeous again this spring. We’ll have to host another garden party, Lily Love. Or . . . some sort of reception, anyway.”

“Mama.” Lily laughed, even in the face of the unknowns that remained.

“Mother Effie is not subtle,” Zivon said in a stage whisper. If he was trying to keep from grinning, he was utterly failing.

But then, his willingness to join her family wasn’t exactly in question either.

They climbed the stairs, strode down the corridor toward the admiral’s office, and her mother greeted by name every secretary and cryptographer they passed. When Euphemia Blackwell decided to join something, she did it wholeheartedly.

A lesson Lily had taken to heart. She greeted her colleagues too—and apparently quite a few of them knew what she’d been about in the basement today, because they had a rather long procession by the time Zivon knocked on Hall’s door.

“Enter.”