I assured Lenora I’d return by bus, releasing her to other tasks. Part of me wishes I hadn’t sent her off so soon.

The nurse, being called to assist with a patient’s outburst, directs me to continue the last few yards. I slow at the half-open door, where I’m greeted by the familiar smell of cigarette smoke. Seated in bed, unrestrained and propped against a pillow, Hutton appears to be scribbling on paper. My footfalls draw his eyes.

“At last! Miss Vos, please come in.” His lucid state knocks me for a loop. It strikes as particularly incongruent in light of his appearance, with a hospital gown in place of his tweed suit, his face unshaven and hair unkempt.

I venture into the room, a limited space with a curtained window. “How are you feeling, sir?”

His hand shoos away the question as a tired one. “Fine, just fine.” His impatience is ever present. “Of greater concern is how to proceed. Whilst the length of my stay is pending, there is still much work to be done.”

“But shouldn’t you…be resting?”

“After four days here mucking about, I am going positively stale.” He grumbles as if cooped up for forty. “Now,” he says, “if we are to win this war, I shall require your assistance with our schemes moving forward. More than usual, I might add.”

I realize then that my letter never reached him. Or his memory has lapsed since. I need to break the news. But how? Doing so here and now feels cruel, yet stringing him along under a false pretense would be no kinder. And that’s to say nothing of my own precarious state. Replacing me is only sensible, above all, for those in jeopardy we’re meant to help.

He pauses to point to a chair not far from his bed. “Please sit, sit.”

I remain standing. “Sir, I feel terrible if my recent failures added to your predicament in any way,” I begin.

“What? Oh my, don’t be silly.”

While I appreciate his assurance, I forge on before losing my nerve. “Having said that, I’ve come to believe my efforts are no longer worthwhile at MI9.” A mere week ago, he’d have likely celebrated the announcement. Now that he requires more assistance, I brace for a spate of frustration or disappointment, even a guilt-laden appeal.

Instead, he reclines against his pillow with a contemplative nod. “I imagine this pertains to the misfortune at the Tube.”

I should have figured he learned of it. Lenora is liable to have shared if asked about my absence.

“I daresay,” he murmurs as if musing aloud, “that must have been especially distressing, in view of your childhood experience.”

Startled, I blink at him. “How could you know of…”