Heat lingers on my sides from his touch. And I’m reminded of what I was willing to do with Willem. I push away the shame-tinged thought and step into the room alight with candles, where Arie is stowing his gun under his mattress. Then he strides toward the potbelly stove, where a round tin smells of broth.

“Hungry?” he asks, blunting the awkwardness.

“Not just yet.”

A quick nod, and he diverts to conversation while stirring. “So I’ve got news,” he says. “I lined up a fella today for a handoff by the hospital.”

I’m trying to track the relevance, still collecting myself. “Sorry. This is for…?”

“For Nel. You asked how I’d get her to safety fast, before I’m able to grab Evelien.”

“Sure—of course.”

“The guy is Nel’s uncle. Her usual connections are all up north. But she sent me his way, so no reason not to count on him. I met him just briefly, but he seems okay. He isn’t part of the network, but for her, he’s willing to risk it.”

“Well, good. That’s splendid, then.” I extend a smile, which Arie reciprocates. When he returns to stirring, I go to sit on the bed but think better of it and detour to settle on the chair. “Speaking of news”—recalling the main reason I’ve come—“I actually have a bit of my own.” In the candle’s glow on the table, I present the two bottles from my cardigan pockets, not with a stage flourish but close. “I believe these ought to be useful.”

“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got?” Abandoning the soup, he strides over and attempts to read their smudged labels. I save him the trouble.

“The clear one’s for anesthesia. Ether, I’d guess. And the amber one is a sleep tonic.” Mrs. van der Meer might have intended for me to choose between them, but the combination seems ideal to knock a person out quickly and for a lengthy stretch.

At Arie’s bewilderment—likely figuring they’re for the Zieglers and thus ready to discount them—I plunge into my idea: about Nel and a dozing nurse swapping places, along with their outfits. It’s a classic trick of hiding in plain sight, I tell him, and better than his existing plan of using extra bedding to pass for a body.

“And yes, I know that worked at the orphanage,” I say, preempting his pushback. “But a hospital’s a different story. I wasn’t being guarded and checked on at night. As you’ve said yourself, the longer you can delay the search for all of you, the better. You could even hide in the city till morning if need be.”

I don’t delve into why that option might be preferred. One topic at a time. Instead, I wait for him to brighten with approval.

A response that doesn’t come.