Though it might be too soon, I crank open the tin and inner can. Steam rises, a promising sight. The scent of pea soup offers only slight reprieve from the inn’s vegetable stew, meatless and bland, served almost nightly.

I stir the soup with a spoon and take a sip. The temperature is…

“Perfect. I’ve done it!”

The announcement is wasted on an empty room. I yearn for someone to share it with, and not just anyone. I think of all the evenings I watched Arie fiddling with contraptions or studying how to engineer marvels from scratch, many concurrently practical and extraordinary. I smile and wonder if he’d be proud.

Then realizing I’ll never know, I feel a squeeze in my chest.

I try to purge him from my mind, to retain the joy of my achievement, but memories clamor to the surface. To drown them out, I move to my nightstand and turn on the wireless. Another BBC news report on the Berlin bombing raid. Fine news to be sure, though in this moment, I’d much favor a comedic program, like It’s That Man Again. Even the daily recipe show with tips for reconstituting powdered eggs would do.

I click off the radio.

Wilton Park is generally accessible at all hours, given the urgency of assignments. In Hutton’s office, I could fetch gadgets from the work-in-progress table and find distraction in tinkering.

Beyond my blackout curtains, there’s no sound of rain. So I throw on my shoes and coat and hustle toward the lobby with flashlight in hand. Blue cellophane keeps the bulb within nighttime regulations. Once outside on Wycombe End, I savor the crisp, cool air that smells of damp meadow.

I’m still all alone but my breaths come easier.

Aided by the moon’s glow from a largely clear sky, I tread past inns, pubs, and shops closed for the night. Stars shine brighter due to the blackout, their patterns all the more pronounced. Andromeda. Cassiopeia. Cepheus. When Mr. Jansen gave me a constellation book all those years ago, I became determined to check off as many shapes as I could spy—because why do anything halfway? Every Friday evening for months, I dragged Arie to lie with me in a field. We’d gab and laugh while doggedly searching for—

Oh, enough!

These thoughts weren’t supposed to stalk me to the other side of the world.

I concentrate on my steps through a roundabout and plod along a tree-lined stretch. Irksomely I fidget with the metal token on my necklace until recalling its purpose. The engraved identity disc, though not required for civilians, was something I first obtained at Hutton’s urging. It’s a reminder of the fate that threatens even those out here in the country.