But not just the passport. The edge of another paper peeked out.

Fast as a snake, Zivon shot out his arm and grabbed the bag’s strap before Evgeni could shove it down to the floor again. Slow as a tiger’s crouch, he lifted his eyes to his brother’s.

They didn’t look alike. Not really. But they had the same eyes. Batya’s eyes. And Evgeni’s burned now with the same temper that had made their father a noted fist-fighter . . . but an officer who never advanced as far as he should have in the Imperial Army. His brother growled, “What are you doing, Zivon?”

He switched his words to Russian. “What are you doing, Zhenya? Where were you when the train stopped to take on water?”

It couldn’t be anything big. Anything important. Perhaps he’d found a girl to charm—he always did. It couldn’t be anything real.

But Zivon was keenly aware of that encrypted message under his own hand. Of the knowledge that somewhere in this region, German officers were rumbling about mutiny. And somewhere, a Prussian soldier sympathetic to the Bolsheviks had told Lenin about them.

Evgeni snorted a laugh in that way he always did when he was trying to put Zivon off the scent of something. He opened his mouth.

But no words came out. Or if they did, they were lost under the sudden screeching of metal on metal.

The floor beneath them bucked. The car pitched. The soft snores from two seats behind them turned to screams. His own joined them. Screams to God. Screams for his brother. Screams of pain.

Then darkness swallowed the train whole.

1

THURSDAY, 28 MARCH 1918
MAYFAIR, LONDON, ENGLAND

Lilian Blackwell held her breath and inched along the wall, praying with every footfall that Mama wouldn’t look up. That the hurried explanation she’d offered the housekeeper would suffice. That she’d be able to slip out the door without the need for any more lies to slip past her lips. She put a hand over the camera in her pocket to keep it from banging against her leg—Mama had ears as sensitive as a rabbit’s—and prepared for the most dangerous part of her escape: darting past the open drawing room doorway.

As she edged a little closer, she caught her sister’s gaze inside the room. Ivy, blue eyes twinkling, pressed her lips against a smile and turned to their mother. “So, who’s coming for dinner tonight, Mama? Officers, gentlemen, or both?”

Bless her. Lily waited until her mother dipped her brush into her oils and began to answer, then dashed by. She made it two whole steps past the door too. Then, “Lily! Is that you?”

Blast. Lily let the pumps she’d been carrying drop to the floor and slid her feet into them before moving to the door. Not through it, though. She didn’t have much time. “Yes, Mama.”