Nicolai had hope, yes - and enough common sense not to trust in it too much. We run, that's what we do, he had told Peter. It had helped him survive. Helped all of them survive. They had run across Europe; run to the New World; run from town to town.
Part of Peter wondered if he'd ever stop.
"Something brought you out that night," he pointed out, "put you in the street where I appeared." He shrugged. Destiny was more about the fates than he was, but he had seen too much not to believe in them, a little.
"Maybe you're the good luck charm," he suggested, tugging his sleeve down over his hand and reaching up to her cheek again, gently dabbing her skin dry.