Page 166 of Shadowfox

I unfolded the paper.

It smelled of lilacs and pencil shavings.

Written in blue ink, with determined precision:

Dear Mr. Emu and Mr. Condor,

I hope this reaches you. I asked the nice woman with the strange glasses in Paris to send it. She said it would find you eventually.

I wanted to let you know I’m all right.

The school is nice. The food is strange. They have a cat named Pascal who likes to steal my pencils.

I miss Papa. So much. But I think he would be happy I am here.

They tried putting me in classes with other students my age, but I was miserable. Those kids barely knew how to do proper mathematics, and none of them knew the first thing about modular arithmetics, or a polyalphabetic cipher, or anything really important.

After a few weeks, they moved me to study with a bunch of college students. A few are doing graduate work in cryptography. I think I am still the most advanced in my classes.

I am building something you’ll find really interesting. It’s not ready yet.

But when it is, I’ll let you know.

Thank you for saving me.

Love,

Eszter F.

I read it twice.

Then again.

By the time I looked up, Thomas had already sat on the edge of the bed and was staring out the window. His jaw was tight, but his eyes were soft.

“She’s alive,” I said, voice hoarse.

He nodded. “And building something.”

We sat in silence for a long moment, the kind of silence that holds things too big for words, then he stood and offered me a hand.

“Come on, Mr. Emu. We’ve got a café to offend.”

I took his hand, and together, we stepped into the Paris morning, the letter tucked in my coat pocket, and our hearts just a little lighter than they’d been the day before.

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