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During the performance, Andrée becomes aware of Cat’s hand resting near hers on the table. Not touching. Not quite. Just there. Present.

She shifts her own hand slightly. Their fingers brush. He doesn’t pull away. Neither does she.

They sit like that, hands almost but not quite entwined, listening to Charles Trenet sing songs of love and loss and defiance. Around them, Germans applaud, thinking he’s performing just for them.

When the performance ends, the room erupts in applause. Trenet bows, blows kisses, disappears backstage. The lights come up. The spell is broken.

“That was extraordinary,” Andrée says.

“He’s extraordinary.” Cat stands, offers his hand. “Shall we go? Or would you like to stay for another drink?”

“Let’s walk. I need air.”

Outside, the night is cold and clear. Stars shining brighter than ever in the blackout sky. They walk without speaking at first, letting the music settle in their minds.

“Thank you,” Andrée says finally. “For tonight. For . . . normality.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to spend time with you. Not with my colleague. Not with another Resistance member. Just with you. Andrée.”

They stop walking. Face each other. The street is empty, quiet. Just them and the darkness and the possibility of something beyond war, beyond danger, beyond resistance.

“I know. I know we can’t think about the future when we might not have one. But when this is over, when we survive—and we will survive—I want to take you out again. Properly. Without having to pretend. Without looking over our shoulders.”

“When this is over,” Andrée echoes. It seems impossible. Like believing in miracles.

“When this is over,” he repeats firmly. “Promise me you’ll remember. Promise me we’ll have that evening. Music and wine and no fear.”

“I promise.”

He takes her hand properly now. Raises it to his lips. Kisses it gently, like they’re in a different century, a different world. “Then I’ll hold you to that.”

They walk on, hand in hand now, no longer pretending. Two people who choose danger every day but tonight have chosen each other, just for a moment, just for this walk home through occupied Paris.

At her building, they stop.

“Good night, Andrée.”

“Good night.”

She climbs the stairs, feeling brighter than she has in months. Inside the apartment, Tina and Louis are still awake, reading by lamplight. They look up when she enters.

“How was it?” Tina asks, smiling.

“Perfect,” Andrée says. “It was perfect.”

She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t need to. Some things are meant to be kept close, held private. A secret not of danger but of hope.

Lying in bed, Andrée thinks about Cat’s words. When this is over. As if it’s certain. As if they’ll survive. As if there’s a future waiting for them beyond occupation and fear and resistance.

She doesn’t let herself believe it completely. That way lies disappointment, heartbreak. But she allows herself this: a small hope. A possibility. A promise made under stars in occupied Paris that might, somehow, be kept.

Chapter Thirteen

“We think we’ve found a communication center,” Louis tells the group gathered once again in the tiny kitchen. It’s Thursday. Joséphine sits at the piano in the living room, and the sound of scales fills the apartment.

“I met with the colonel yesterday, and he has given me the name of the château to which he believes communications from Berlin to France are being routed, and from there to the U-boats operating in the Atlantic. He wants one of us to carry out a surveillance expedition. I think that someone should be Cat.”

Silence hangs in the air. Locating German communication centers has long been a priority for many of the Resistance networks.