Right this moment, though, even more than those grand goals, he just wanted—no, needed—a friend. “I would like my routine to be more regular as well. Perhaps we could run together certain mornings each week?”

Clarke’s eyes lit up. “That would be just the thing. Accountability, you know. Perhaps we could work out the details over lunch today? If the weather’s fine, I’ll be up on the roof at one o’clock.”

Zivon nodded. “Perfect. I will look forward to it.”

“Ah, good. Just the chaps I was hoping to catch.”

They both looked up, spotting Captain Blackwell coming down the stairs, a smile on his face. Zivon had a feeling he wasn’t alone in the question of why the captain was looking for them both, though of course they merely said their respective good mornings and waited for the older man to explain himself.

“I’ve come with another invitation for each of you. I just received word that my brother and his wife won’t make it to Town as planned today, so we’ve two seats open for Easter dinner on Sunday. I thought, given that neither of you have people in London, you might like to join us. It’s a shame to spend a holiday alone.”

Zivon exchanged a glance with Clarke—who had told him on their shared tube ride home last night that Blackwell never invited the same young men to dinner more than once. What did this mean, that he was doing so now? For both of them, no less?

Perhaps it was simple Christian charity, not wanting them to be alone for the holiday, as he said. And if so, Zivon hadn’t the heart to tell him that he hadn’t been planning on celebrating until next month. What harm could there possibly be in observing his Lord’s resurrection now too? He nodded. “It would be my honor.”

“And pleasure,” Clarke added. “How good of you to think of us, Captain. I would certainly be delighted to join you.”

“And I.”

“Excellent.” Blackwell clapped them each on a shoulder and continued down the stairs. “I’ll let you both know of the time after I’ve verified it with Effie.”

For a long moment after he’d gone, Zivon and Clarke just stared at each other. Then they smiled, chuckled, and Zivon peeled off toward his door. “I will see you at lunch.”

His heart had never been quite so light as he passed into the corridor that housed the intelligence hub. Perhaps that was why he found himself following the voices toward Room 40 instead of his own desk across the hall.

“I think it must be another alphabet entirely.” It was De Wilde’s voice. He hadn’t yet learned them all, but it was certainly no trouble to recognize that of the sole female cryptographer.

And the words another alphabet drew him like a moth to flame.