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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.