Page 119 of Winterveil

Deckard was waiting in the corridor, Giselle, Klaudia, and Julian already gathered there with him. Minus Deckard, they looked as weary as Nadiya felt. Giselle glanced up when Nadiya approached, a soft look of fondness in her eyes. Nadiya clenched her fists at her sides, as if it might suppress the urge she had to reach out for Giselle’s hand.

“Time for your meeting,” Deckard said vaguely, and led them down the hall. The door at the very end had a biometric scanner instead of a keyhole. He pressed his thumb to it and the lock clicked open.

For all the extra security measures, inside, the room looked identical to Nadiya’s own. The only difference was that the television was on, its screen gray and flickering with static.

“What, the CEO couldn’t even be bothered to be here in person?” Julian asked.

“This isn’t the CEO,” said Deckard. The static hummed for another moment, and then a face materialized on the screen.

A familiar face: slightly lined, especially around the eyes, which were an indiscernible shade of blue, and a thick shock of white hair. Dr. Iver.

“What a privilege to see you all again,” he said. “I’m told that you successfully completed your mission in Traumstadt.”

Klaudia’s gaze was sharp. “By some metric.”

“Excellent work, the four of you.” Through the blips of static, which distorted both his face and his voice, it was difficult to tell who Dr. Iver was looking at when he spoke. “I’m proud that Valeran’s students have made such a good showing, and have been selected for such a vital and prestigious opportunity. You will go down in history as brave patriots.”

“Prestigious,” Julian echoed. “Interesting way to describe extrajudicial murder.”

“I can’t believe you want us to kill somebody,” Giselle put in tremulously.

“Never has a war been won without spilled blood,” Dr. Iver said. “Moritz Satow is a danger to the entire world, not just to America and its allies. If he is allowed to continue his work, life as you know it is over. His death is a necessary evil. One of the many sordid moments in the course of this lamentable conflict.” The suddenly portentous tone struck Nadiya as both absurd and rage-inducing.

“Then why don’t you sully your own hands,” Julian said, “instead of getting teenagers to do your dirty work?”

The static warped Dr. Iver’s face almost beyond recognition for a moment.

“I have my own mission, which is essential to the war effort,” he said. “My life’s work has been in service of the cause. I have sacrificed much myself. Not that it matters. This is not an offer to accept or reject. This is an order. You promised your loyalty to Valeran when you signed your academy contract.”

Nadiya had signed no contract. She wasn’t even officially enrolled as a student. There was nothing legal or technical that mandated her compliance. And yet—she had never refused an order from him before.

Her stomach felt as heavy as lead. None of them spoke.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Dr. Iver said. “And thank you for performing this additional service, with Auric. It is crucial to the mission as well. You will be fully briefed on everything when you return.”

Nadiya jolted. “We’re coming back? To Valeran?”

“Of course. You are still my students, after all. Valeran will be the first step of your journey. Think of it as a . . . metaphorical launchpad. A graduation ceremony.” He smiled, that same enigmatic smile Nadiya had come to know so well. “I will see you again very soon.”

He was speaking to Nadiya directly now; she could tell even through the distortion of the static. She tried to feel comfort, or anything close to love. But all she heard were the words patriot and student and soldier. Not daughter. Never daughter.

All of a sudden Nadiya couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears. She couldn’t speak. In another moment, Dr. Iver’s face vanished from the screen. Only the gray haze of static remained.

When the call ended, Deckard took out his cell phone and examined it. “It’s your lucky day,” he said. “The CEO has agreed to meet now.”

“Great,” said Julian. “I feel like I’ve won the lottery.”

“I’d put your snarky attitude away,” said Deckard. “You’re asking the CEO for a favor.”

“No, you’re asking him,” said Nadiya, finding her voice with a pang of bitterness. “We’re just your mouthpieces.”

“Then keep your mouths in line,” Deckard said coldly. “Let’s go.”

He led them out of the room and back down the corridor, into the elevator. With mirrors on all sides, it threw their reflections back at them: four weary-looking teenagers in street clothes and their eerily unremarkable handler. No one would guess that the fate of the free world was allegedly in their hands.

The hotel was clearly committed to its lavish aesthetic, because the restaurant in the lobby was more white marble with gold fixtures and a domed ceiling of intricate stained glass. A faint bleed of sunlight rippled through. Large potted palm plants stretched their fronds into the air. Instead of roses, ghostly white orchids decorated each table, their petals fragile-looking and translucent. The room was cavernous, but almost completely empty.

Auric’s CEO strode toward them, past the palm plants, through the pale slants of sunlight. Everyone in America knew his face, but meeting him in person was still a shock. He approached them with a loping gait that reminded Nadiya unexpectedly of a supposed cryptid sighting in a grainy video. He was shorter than she had expected, not much taller than Klaudia in her kitten heels. His face was long and pasty, framed by two greasy curtains of shoulder-length brown hair. Nadiya couldn’t imagine what barber with a conscience had done that to him.