“You’ll be fine with Deena. Dr. Leafley is said to be… extraordinarily skilled. I’ll meet him after.”
The words landed awkwardly. They echoed too many times—skilled, alwaysskilled. The same word patients once used for her father and Faivish, spoken with reverence and something close to wonder.
As they stepped down, Maisie caught Deena’s arm. “One moment.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve seen the dentist?”
“Certainly.”
Maisie’s throat tightened. “Is he old?”
Deena wrinkled her nose. “Not as old as Father. Not young either. Somewhere in between.”
Maisie’s thoughts turned back to the boy with steady hands and eyes too serious for his age. Faivish had been young. Too young for all he knew. But five years could soften or sharpen. They left marks on the body, on the soul.
“And?” she asked.
Deena tilted her head. “Handsome, if you like that sort of thing.Broad across the shoulders. Too big.”
Maisie’s breath caught.Too big.
Her heart leapt—then fell. Faivish had been sharp-edged, his strength compact and precise, like a drawn blade. Not broad. And he had been unmistakably theirs.
If this man shared their faith, someone would’ve said something. A name. A trace. A whisper in the congregation.
Deena and John went in, and the door to 87 Harley Street clicked shut behind them.
Maisie lingered on the step, torn. Every instinct told her to demand an introduction, to walk in and see this man with her own eyes. But another, darker voice warned her of Hofstätter, of List—men who had power to erase. If her father had gone into hiding, if Faivish had been forced to change his name as she had to survive, then her knocking at the wrong door could undo everything. Drawing too much attention was to risk more than just disappointment. It was to gamble with his safety. No, she needed more certainty before she could speak his name to strangers.
She pressed her palm to the carriage door. One look could undo her. One look could reveal him—or destroy the fragile hope she still clutched.
Maisie climbed inside. The door shut. The wheels turned. She closed her eyes.
Not young. Not a Jewish name. Too big.
But still, her pulse would not settle. But something in her refused to believe it. Not yet. She would fetch the uniforms. Visit the archives. Keep searching.
Faivish is out there. I know it.
*
The ornate letteringabove the newspaper archive door caught themorning light like a memory catching fire. Felix barely glanced at it. With Alfie trailing behind and little Lilly tucked under one arm, he stepped into the quiet, familiar hush of the building. The scent greeted him before anything else—dusty paper, old ink, and something brittle as parchment left too long in the sun. It wrapped around him like an old thought half-remembered. He almost sneezed, caught it just in time, unwilling to break the fragile stillness.
The room breathed in soft rhythms—murmured voices, the scratch of pens, chairs creaking with thoughtful weight. A symphony of routine, playing just beneath notice.
“Honestly, she’ll never learn,” Alfie muttered. His voice carried low but unmistakable. “You’re babying Lilly to no end. She thinks your arm is a featherbed.”
Felix looked down at the golden puff nestled beneath his coat. Lilly blinked up at him, her tiny paws drawn to her chest, breathing slowly with trust. “She is home,” he said quietly. “She’ll learn. Just… not today.”
Alfie scoffed under his breath. “She’d learn faster if you let her walk more than five feet. You’ll be scraping off boot mess before long.”
Felix didn’t answer. He was already at the main desk, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. “The criminal reports from Middlesex. Last month,” he said, nodding to the clerk. He’d already scoured the shipping manifests, dock logs, and registries. Each lead vanished into smoke.
The clerk nodded distractedly and disappeared through a side door.
Felix let his gaze drift.
