Leo exhaled on the window, causing it steam up. Childlike, he pressed his finger against the condensation and without thinking traced the outline of the Statue of Liberty – a crude version of the sketch he’d seen today. He hastily rubbed it away with the coarse cuff of his jacket and glanced around. The sketch would have been unrecognizable to anyone except himself and the tramcar was almost empty: there was only one other passenger, a man seated at the front, wrapped up against the cold in so many layers that the smallest patch of his face was visible. Having made sure no one had witnessed his sketch he concluded there was no reason to be alarmed. Usually so careful, he found it hard to believe he’d made such a dangerous slip. He was running too many late-night arrests and even when he wasn’t working, he was finding it difficult to sleep.

Except for early in the morning and late at night, tramcars were crowded. Painted with a thick stripe in their centre, they rattled around the city like giant boiled sweets. Often Leo had no choice except to force his way on. With seating for fifty, there were typically twice that number, the aisles filled with commuters jostling for position. Tonight Leo would’ve preferred the discomfort of a busy carriage, elbows jutting into his side and people pushing past. Instead he had the luxury of an empty seat, heading home to the privilege of an empty apartment – accommodation he was not obliged to share, another perk of his profession. A man’s status had become defined by how much empty space surrounded him. Soon he’d be designated his own car, a larger home, perhaps even a dacha, a country house. More and more space, less and less contact with the people he was charged with keeping watch over.

The words dropped into Leo’s head:

How Love Begins.

He’d never been in love, not in the way described in the diary – excitement at the prospect of seeing someone again and sadness as soon as they went away. Grigori had risked his life for a woman he barely knew. Surely that was an act of love? Love did seem to be characterized by foolhardiness. Leo had risked his life for his country many times. He’d shown exceptional bravery and dedication. If love was sacrifice then his only true love had been for the State. And the State had loved him back, like a favourite son, rewarding and empowering him. It was ungrateful, disgraceful, that the thought should even cross his mind that this love was not enough.