Page 124 of Winterveil

“You don’t have to do this,” said Julian quietly.

“I won’t have to give him much,” Klaudia said. “He’s easily flattered.”

They approached, and the instant that Chane spotted them, he hung up his phone and shoved it into his breast pocket. Assuming that same wide but toothless grin, he said, “Hey, guys! What’s up?”

His casualness made everything seem easier. Drawing a breath, Klaudia said, “We just wanted to meet with you one-on-one. To see if we could nudge you in the right direction.”

“Awesome,” said Chane, looking them both up and down. “But this is actually two-on-one, yeah?” His gaze lingered on Julian.

“Right,” Julian said tonelessly. “I must’ve forgotten how to count.”

Klaudia’s heart beat faster. This was a precarious plan, by turns bold and plain stupid. One of her teachers at Valeran, Professor Sokolov, had said that was where genius lived—in the space between bravery and recklessness. He had said it while they were reading Clausewitz, who asserted that defense was always the superior position. Offensive maneuvers were more often doomed to failure. It was why Klaudia so rarely undertook them.

But she had no other choice now. And so, summoning all her courage, and shedding all the disgust she felt at the prospect, Klaudia pretended to trip forward, falling into Chane’s waiting arms.

He seized her instantly, his grip tight as he clutched her to his chest. Chane had to feel that she was shaking, had to see the flush that had risen to her cheeks, but she was sure he would mistake it for flustered flirtation. Taking advantage of his bewilderment and shock, Klaudia subtly knocked the phone from his breast pocket.

To cover up the noise of it clattering to the ground, she said loudly, “Oh! I’m so sorry! These shoes—”

With one foot, she kicked the phone across the rooftop toward Julian. Chane was still distracted by his sudden physical contact with Klaudia and he didn’t notice Julian kneel down to pick it up.

In a split second, Chane had his arms tightly around her waist. None too subtly, one of his hands grazed her hip, and his knees wedged between her thighs.

“No worries,” Chane said. Even though she was now upright, he didn’t slacken his grip. “Are you, like, super clumsy? It’s cute.”

Klaudia’s stomach churned. In her periphery, she saw Julian duck behind one of the large roof vents, phone to his ear. She had previously expressed concern that Chane’s phone would be locked, but he had looked at her assuredly and said, Rich people don’t password protect anything. Not even someone like Chane. They can’t envision a world where anyone can take something from them.

“Only sometimes,” Klaudia said, raising the pitch of her voice to sound what she hoped came across as bubbly. “Only when I’m, um, intimidated.” There, she thought, cringing internally. There was nothing Chane wanted more than to be admired.

“Yeah?” Chane’s smile grew languid, stretching the skin of his face. “Well, I can show you something really cool I’m working on, if you want. If you come to my room later. I’ve heard you’re good at games.”

Klaudia thought she might be ill. But at that precise moment, Julian emerged from behind the air vent. Chane hadn’t even noticed his absence. He dropped the phone, kicking it back across the ground to Klaudia, who was so relieved to have an escape that she wasted no time. She wrested herself free from Chane’s grip and knelt down, retrieving the phone.

“Here,” she said, thrusting it at him. “You dropped this.”

Chane, frowning in confusion, took the phone. He turned it over in his hands, examining the new scuff marks.

“Come on, Klaud,” Julian said, before Chane had a chance to speak again. “Deckard wants us back downstairs.” To Chane, he said, “Sorry. I guess you’ll have to play by yourself.”

As they made their way back downstairs, Klaudia’s stomach still roiling with residual disgust, she noticed that Julian had grown uncharacteristically quiet. Subdued. He hadn’t liked the plan, but why? She didn’t flatter herself to think that he might be jealous—but maybe protective. She remembered the way that he had subtly positioned himself between her and Carter in the dining hall, as if to keep her safe.

When they reached the fourth-floor landing, Julian looked up at her and said, “I didn’t call my father.”

Panic gripped her. “What?”

“I couldn’t,” he said. His voice was low, barely more than a whisper. “I know he won’t come for me. He didn’t come for me before.” Julian let out a breath. “Don’t worry. I called someone else. Our driver, Fikret. He’s going to come in a helicopter tomorrow night. He’ll get us out.”

“You trust him?”

“With my life.”

Slowly, Klaudia nodded, and then she regarded Julian closely. She didn’t know exactly when, but at some point she had come to rely on him. His quips, his charms, his compliments, even his little challenges—they made her feel like a real person. Not like the mask she wore, not like the cold creature she pretended to be. They made her feel like she deserved the mundane joys of an ordinary girl. Uncomplicated. Free.

So she hated that he looked so despondent now. Klaudia wished she were better at this, better at kindness and comfort. She considered the words for a long moment before saying, “My father wouldn’t come for me, either.”

Julian’s brow furrowed.

“He was the one who had me arrested. He . . .” Klaudia’s gaze drifted past Julian, memories crowding her vision. “He’s never loved me. I wasn’t what he wanted from a child. There was always something wrong with me.”