I nodded silently, but there was a rock in the pit of my stomach. Whenever I asked Jürgen about work, he always spoke only about the science—and never in much detail, because the program was becoming increasingly secretive.

We mingled in Lydia’s sitting room—a space so expansive it may as well have been a banquet hall. Every new scientist I met said some variation on the same thing. Jürgen is a genius. Jürgen is my hero. Jürgen is a visionary. As he often did at parties, Jürgen followed me around like a lost puppy. He waved away these compliments and occasionally blushed in a way I found so endearing.

But while I found the scientists exactly as I expected, Lydia surprised me. We’d gone to such lengths to plan our new outfits and I’d expected Lydia to dazzle in her new plum frock—inspired by the height of the season’s fashion. Instead, she was dressed in Trachtenkleidung—a traditional folk outfit. She wore a long, full brown skirt with a thick black band encircling the hem, paired with a white blouse with gathered sleeves and a crocheted collar, and over the top, a black bodice.

I’d known Lydia since my first day at finishing school, and I’d never seen her dress in such an old-fashioned way. I tried to ask her about it, but when she wasn’t busy with guests, she was busy with her staff. After a while, I decided I would talk to her when things were a little quieter. While I waited, Jürgen and I made obligatory small talk with Dietger and Anne.

“And how are things at the Rhodes household?” Dietger asked. I smiled politely and rested my head against Jürgen’s arm, stifling my irritation. He knew how things were in our household. He spent a good portion of his life staring out his front windows, watching us.

“I hear you are doing great work for the Reich these days, Jürgen,” Anne said quietly.

“I am fortunate to have the opportunity to work with such exciting science,” Jürgen said carefully. Just then, Otto and Helene approached, exchanging warm and familiar greetings with the Schneiders.

“And you must be Sofie,” Otto said, finally glancing my way. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His tone conveyed a different feeling. His brow furrowed as his gaze roamed over my face and then quickly down my body, before he pursed his lips. I flushed self-consciously, then glanced at Helene. Otto was older than I’d imagined he would be—at least in his fifties, maybe older. He was a portly man with thinning silver hair. Helene was decades younger than Otto and she was pregnant, her small belly jutting out.