Madame Travere didn’t say anything as she led Eva up the two flights of stairs into the parlor, where five young children, who ranged in age from around three to about eight, were playing quietly. After the raids in February, in which the authorities had turned up nothing, Madame Travere and the others had waited only two weeks before beginning to take in children again. There was no other way; there weren’t enough places to put them, not enough people to entrust them to. A wave of sadness swept over Eva as she watched them.

“Mademoiselle Moreau,” Madame Travere said, and as Eva turned to her, she realized the older woman had been watching her closely as she stared at the children. Her expression had softened a bit, and Eva had the strange sense she had passed some sort of test she hadn’t known she’d been taking. “I understand that there are quite a few young ladies in town who would like to get in touch with Faucon, but—”

“What? No, that’s not what I—” Eva stopped and shook her head, embarrassed. “I need to speak to him urgently, and I don’t know how to find him.”

Madame Travere stared at her for another unsettlingly long moment before accepting this with a nod. “Why haven’t you asked Père Clément?”

Eva swallowed hard. Though the conversation she had overheard had seemed damning, what if it wasn’t? She didn’t want to be spreading doubt about the priest until she knew for sure. She owed him at least that. “I—I didn’t see Père Clément this morning, so I came to you instead. Please, it’s very important.”

Madame Travere pursed her lips and seemed to be considering the request. “You’ve done a good job with the children’s papers,” she said at last. “You’ve risked a lot to help us. Why?”

Eva was thrown by the abruptness of the question, but she considered it anyhow. “Because none of these children deserve what’s happening to them. Helping them makes me feel like I can bring some light to the world, even in the midst of all the darkness.”

“I feel the same.” Madame Travere nodded slowly. “Very well, Mademoiselle Moreau. You can ask after Faucon at the farm on the northern edge of town, the one with the blue barn and the red roses. The owners are friends of the underground. I understand it’s where Faucon stays when he’s in the area. Just head north on the rue de Chibottes and you’ll eventually come upon it on the hillside. It’s where the résistants, the ones who want to go into the forests to help, have been gathering for months now.”

Eva shook her head. Every day there was something new to learn about this town and the secrets swirling around it. “Thank you, Madame Travere.”

“Thank you, Mademoiselle Moreau,” she replied, looking Eva in the eye. “And whatever this is about, please stay safe. We need you.”

* * *

It took Eva forty-five minutes to walk to the farm on a road that turned to dirt at the edge of town. No one passed her going in either direction, and as the rows of hillside crops finally came into view, Eva understood why this would make a good place to hide.

The farm’s land was dotted with several buildings, including a large stone house, a blue barn lined with red rosebushes, and several smaller, agricultural-looking buildings. A few men were working quietly among the rows, and they looked up as she approached. She gave a pleasant wave and felt their eyes burning into her as she walked up and knocked on the door of the main house.

It was answered by a woman around Eva’s age, with long, dark hair and big, brown eyes. Her tanned skin was flawless, her cheeks flushed. Her brow creased in confusion when she saw Eva standing there. “And who are you?” she asked immediately.

“Um, I’m Eva Moreau,” Eva said haltingly, caught off guard by the brusque greeting. She was still panting a bit from her walk.

The woman’s eyes were hard as she looked Eva up and down. “So? What are you doing here? We have no grain to sell to the public. No eggs, either. You’ll just have to wait in the queues like everyone else.”

“I’m not here for grain or eggs, madame.” She took a deep breath. “I’m looking for Faucon.”

The woman took a small step back, her expression growing even colder. “Falcons? I’m afraid we have no birds here this time of year. Perhaps your bird-watching would be more successful elsewhere.”

“No, I’m—”

“Thank you for stopping by.” And with that, the door was slammed in Eva’s face. She stood blinking at it before knocking again, but there was no answer.

Finally, Eva turned and headed toward the fields, intending to ask the men who’d been working there if they knew where to find Faucon, but they were gone, too. It was as if the entire farm was suddenly deserted, a ghost town.

Eva walked over to the barn and peeked inside, but it was dark and silent, a tractor and a few pieces of agricultural equipment standing guard over bales of hay. “Hello?” Eva called, but the only reply was her own echo.

Defeated, she finally left and began to walk back toward town, her shoulders slumped. Now what? Perhaps she could leave word with Madame Travere that she needed to speak with Faucon. But how long would it take for the message to reach him? In the meantime, Eva would have to continue reporting to the church as if nothing was wrong, for to do otherwise would only raise suspicion.

She was just passing Madame Travere’s house when a movement in the shadows across the street to the right caught her eye. Was there someone there? She squinted into the darkness, waiting for a person to emerge.

When no one came out onto the street, she convinced herself that her imagination was simply playing tricks on her. But as she hurried along, there was another flash of movement, and she turned just in time to see a uniformed German duck onto the street from one of the alleys, his head turned away.

Relax, she told herself. You see Germans every day.

Then the German glanced her way, and as their eyes met for a fleeting second, she recognized him. Her blood ran cold. It was the man she had seen talking to Père Clément in the church, she was almost certain. Was he following her? But that was crazy, wasn’t it? She was certain he hadn’t seen her last night, but Père Clément had. What if he’d told the German that she might have overheard their clandestine conversation?

She quickened her pace, her muscles tensed to flee if necessary, but after a few seconds, the German turned down another alleyway. She was practically running now, but as she turned onto the broader rue Valadon leading to the town square, the German was nowhere to be seen. Had she imagined that he was tailing her? Perhaps he hadn’t even been the same man she’d seen the night before; it had been dark in the church.

Her gut told her she’d been right, though. Something was amiss. She changed directions and headed for one of the only other people in town she trusted.

The bookstore seemed empty when Eva entered a few minutes later, but the chimes on the door alerted Madame Noirot, who came rushing out with a smile on her face that fell the moment she saw Eva’s expression.

“My dear?” she asked, crossing to Eva quickly and placing both palms on her cheeks. “What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

For a second, Eva faltered. What was she doing here? After all, Père Clément was close to Madame Noirot; what if she was in on the betrayal, too? Then Eva gazed around at all the beautiful books, and she looked back into the wide, concerned eyes of the woman who’d been the first to make her feel welcome here, and she felt something inside of her break. If Madame Noirot had ill intentions, too, nothing made sense anymore. She needed to trust someone, and Madame Noirot seemed like her best bet. “I—I was in the church last night and overheard Père Clément talking to a German soldier.”

Madame Noirot blinked a few times and let her hands fall from Eva’s face. “Well? What were they saying?”

“Something about some Germans who were expected to arrive soon. And a list. I think Père Clément gave him a list of some sort. It—it seemed quite suspicious.”

“There must be an explanation.”

“What if there isn’t?”

Madame Noirot’s knuckles were white as she squeezed Eva’s hands. “Eva, don’t do anything foolish. Père Clément has done nothing but help you, and I’ve seen him risk his life to help others, too. We owe him the benefit of the doubt.”

Eva hung her head. “I know.” It was why she hadn’t said anything to Madame Travere. But she was terrified. “I’ve been trying to find Faucon. He’ll know what to do.”

“And you’re so sure you can trust him?”

Eva nodded. They had history—and he’d already done so much to help the cause. “Yes, I am.”

“Still, I think you should speak to Père Clément first. Once you’ve spoken to Faucon, it’s out of your hands, isn’t it? And sometimes, the underground reacts before they have all the facts. They’re running scared, too, you know, and fear doesn’t always make for clear heads.”

Eva nodded slowly. Madame Noirot was right. Still, she was terrified. What if talking to Père Clément was, in effect, signing her own death warrant? “If something happens to me…”