But his brother was safe. Married. With a child on the way. Perhaps they were still set on advancing in the party. Perhaps all mentions of faith still went unaddressed.

But he had hope. And that wasn’t something Zivon would ever take for granted again. Hope for himself, hope for his brother. Hope for his people. The Reds might win now, might stay in control. But Father Smirnov was right—it was in persecution that faith always bloomed. And if he knew anything about the Russian spirit, it was that it could survive the longest of winters. God would see them through it. And when spring came, whether it be in a few months or a few decades, the people would cry out for His touch.

Just as Zivon had done. He strode for the park, winter’s night closing in rapidly. It was cold—or so said the others at the OB, who grumbled as they tugged on gloves and hats.

Zivon thought it felt rather mild. A fine day for a stroll in the park, if the light would just grant him twenty more minutes. He lifted a hand to say farewell to a few colleagues. And then lifted it again as he entered the park and spotted Konstantin and Fyodor exiting. They shouted a greeting but didn’t slow. Fyodor would be hurrying home to his family, and he and Zivon had seen each other at Mass just yesterday.

Shadows were creeping in too quickly. He picked up his pace still more, not slowing until he rounded the bend on the path and saw her there, kneeling among the brown grass, her camera raised and her attention focused entirely upon a squirrel scavenging for a forgotten nut.

A pattern as familiar to him as breathing. He waited until he heard the click, the whir. Then he knelt down beside her and whispered in her ear, “What do you see?”

Lily smiled, turned, stole a quick kiss. “Life. Going ever onward.” She put her hand in the one he proffered and let him help her to her feet. “You’re late. I was beginning to think the admiral had decided to keep you all for an extra shift, just for old times’ sake.”

He chuckled and wove her fingers through his, though he didn’t immediately lead her toward Curzon Street. They had a few minutes of daylight left. He meant to make use of them. “On the contrary. He had several of us in a meeting to discuss the future. Our future—Room 40’s.”

She caught her breath. “Is there one? I thought . . .”