“But?” Phillip asked, one eyebrow raised. Simone didn’t answer, her jaw tightening. Stupid, wishful thinking on her part. Could she really ask him to trust her once more?

With a sigh, Phillip stationed himself at the transmission station and switched on the encryption box. “All right, what should we send?”

Simone tugged at the sleeves of her hunting jacket, pulling them down over her hands. “Send it urgent to Magpie. Say that . . . that we’ve reached Wewelsburg and are ready to gather any shiny bits the Magpie requires. Standing by.”

Phillip tapped out the message slowly, painstakingly, the dits and dahs taking an eternity. It dropped out into the ether, and across Europe, hidden in basements just like this one, men and women hunched over their radios turned down low and rushed to scribble down the message before it slipped out of their grasp. But none called back out. The receiver stayed quiet.

“Sorry.” Simone shrank into her jacket, her stomach sinking. “I guess I just thought—”

MAGPIE. TX BEGINS.

Phillip scrambled to grab a pencil. Simone almost ripped it from his hand, then thought better, and wrapped her arms around herself as he rushed to transcribe the new message. She hovered at his shoulder like a bird ready to spook.

YOUR MAGPIE WELCOMES ALL SHINIES FOR HER NEST, the message continued. CAN PROVIDE LIMITED SUPPORT.

“Ilse! Ilse, where are you?”

Jürgen rushed back down the stairs, his face flushed. Simone gritted her teeth, willing Phillip to concentrate on the Morse code while the Germans gathered in excited, rushed tones.

ENTERING CAMELOT BUT SOME CHANNELS COMPROMISED, Simone answered. CAN YOU HELP US?

TIME LIMITED, Phillip transcribed as the response came in. CAN ARRANGE SAFE EXTRACTION AFTER TWO HOURS—

“You’re needed at the Castle. Kreutzer’s orders. The guards are waiting for you upstairs.”

—BUT THIS NETWORK UNSAFE, the response finished. ADVISE ON NEXT STEPS, OVER.

The floor opened up beneath her, the sinkhole that was her heart threatening to swallow her alive. Could this Magpie really be her Evangeline? Her flighty, thieving, mischievous girl. She had been orchestrating countless tiny coups, not the ones that lived in her own head like Ilse’s and Jürgen’s did, but the thousand cuts that just might strike the right artery. The bitterness Simone had felt that swollen April night still burned inside her—it had grown pleasant to hold on to—but no, even that comfort was washed away in this new flood of relief.

“Yes,” Simone pleaded. “Tell her we’ll take the two hours.”

Phillip watched Simone for a moment, and for once in her life, she was too happy to want to hide her happiness behind the shield of her scorn. He laughed once, quick, to himself, and began to type out their response.

“What’s going on?” Ilse asked, crowding over Simone’s shoulder.