Page 71 of Winterveil

At that moment, Deckard opened the door. “Once you’ve settled in, come downstairs,” he said. “I’ll finish the briefing.”

The process of settling in was sure to be quick, given that the four of them had been ripped away from their lives at Valeran without even the opportunity to grab a change of clothes. Julian was grateful that he’d been wearing his watch at the time, and that he’d been able to conceal it under the sleeve of his jacket while the gold cuff was removed and replaced with a silver one. His new cuff read BERGERON.

Julian did feel a twinge of regret that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Mikhail and Jane. He wondered what Dr. Iver would tell them—if anything—about his and Klaudia’s sudden absence. Especially considering the spectacular denouement of the Thymos tournament, there was sure to be torrid gossip. Maybe Dr. Iver would announce to the school that they’d strangled each other to death in an empty classroom.

He had yet to decide whether this fate was preferable. Julian looked around the room. There were two narrow twin beds; one, he assumed, for him, and the other, he realized with dismay, was clearly meant for Crispin. He’d had good luck with roommates lately, but given that Crispin was staring at him from the corner like a haunted doll, Julian didn’t feel replete with hope.

The wardrobe next to his bed was filled with clothes, all of them weather-appropriate and well-made. Julian tugged a dark green cable-knit sweater off the hanger, along with a pair of pants, and shut himself in the bathroom to change. He swore he could feel Crispin’s gaze burning him through the door.

Julian left the room and walked downstairs, Crispin trailing him like a dog.

Deckard and the others were already standing around the table, which was strewn with papers and manila folders. All four of them looked up as he entered; the others had changed clothes, too. Klaudia was wearing a short, tight-fitting navy sweater dress over black stockings. Having never seen her in anything other than her academy uniform, Julian was momentarily taken aback.

He must have been staring for longer than he thought, because Nadiya cleared her throat loudly.

“You took your time,” she noted.

“I had to style my hair.” Julian felt a certain amount of petty satisfaction in riling her. Hostility and defiance radiated from her, but beneath was a doe-eyed girl who couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and thirty pounds. Nadiya Karam was not as intimidating as she clearly wished to be.

Granted, there was something concerning about the half-concealed bruises on her knuckles.

Before their interaction could descend into further antagonism, Giselle asked, “Who’s this?”

Crispin stepped out from behind Julian. “I’m Crispin,” he said, in that same low, slightly strained voice.

“Crispin is one of our clandestine officers,” said Deckard. “He’ll be assisting you on your mission. If you have any questions about the mechanics of the simulation or what is permitted within it, please ask him. He’ll be in constant communication with me, so I can further monitor your progress.”

“Further?” Klaudia echoed. “So we’re to assume that we’re being watched at all times?”

“One of the most important skills of a clandestine officer is surveillance detection,” Deckard said. “It requires immense psychological fortitude to endure the pressure of constant surveillance. If this were really a Soviet-occupied town, you would have to operate under the assumption that the walls had eyes and ears.”

Literal eyes and ears, Julian thought with dismay, glancing at Crispin. He hadn’t felt this scrutinized even on his first day at Valeran.

“All right, so we’re under twenty-four seven surveillance,” said Nadiya. “Are you going to tell us what the mission is now?”

“Your mission,” said Deckard, sliding a sheet of paper out from one of the manila folders, “is a typical extraction. The CIA has received intel that the Soviets are hiding a crucial piece of biotechnology in Traumstadt. Discover its location, enter covertly, and retrieve it.”

“What is the technology?” Klaudia asked.

“That knowledge is beyond the purview of your mission. But rest assured it is important. Something that could turn the tide of the war.”

“If we don’t know what it is,” Julian said, “how are we supposed to find it?”

Deckard held up the paper. It was a blueprint of a metal cube, with dimensions indicating that it was small enough to fit in a hand. “This is what it looks like.”

“Tiny and innocuous,” Nadiya said. “So basically, it could be anywhere.”

“Conceivably,” said Deckard. “But given the object’s significance, the Soviets will be keeping it well-hidden and tightly secured. You will have to use your skills of investigation and deduction to determine its location, and your strategic and tactical prowess to extract it.”

Giselle’s chin quivered. “And what if we don’t have any of those . . . skills?”

“You have all been chosen for a reason,” Deckard said. “Each one of you is essential to the operation. All further information can be found in these files. I’d suggest you read them closely. And if there are any burning questions that the files do not sufficiently address, ask Crispin. He will be able to clarify the parameters or elucidate details, but he has been instructed not to give you any help with the mission itself.”

All four of them turned to Crispin. He gave no indication of awareness; his head was ducked almost shyly. He really couldn’t have been any older than Julian. It made him wonder about both the ethics and the wisdom of the CIA conscripting teenagers. Surely there were more experienced officers available for this role.

Julian glanced at Klaudia. Her eyes appeared turbulent. She was likely turning over the same questions in her mind. There was something oddly comforting about her presence, her nearness, when the rest of the situation was so foreign and potentially dangerous. He knew that coolly pensive look on her face. He knew the way she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from betraying any emotion.

For whatever mysteries remained, Julian felt assured that Klaudia, at least, had been selected for good reason. She would lead them to victory, as she had in hundreds of simulations before. He trusted her. And as soon as they got through this—as soon as they won—he would be home. The thought made his chest swell.