Page 72 of Winterveil

Deckard left the four of them to leaf through the papers on the table. There were maps, more blueprints, and profiles of key targets, each with a blurry black-and-white photograph attached. Julian was examining an elevation map of Traumstadt when he felt a presence at his side.

Klaudia. She had walked around the table and now stood next to him, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.

“Julian,” she said quietly.

It was the first time she had spoken his name aloud directly to him, at least that he could recall. A languid heat spread through Julian’s body. In a low voice, he answered, “What is it?”

Klaudia, with a subtle jerk of her chin, indicated Crispin. He was standing a few paces away from the table, arms folded behind his back. Completely, unerringly still.

“Watch out for him,” Klaudia said.

Julian frowned.

“Deckard’s explanation sounds too benevolent. I don’t trust it.”

“You think he has an ulterior motive?”

“I think Deckard is covering all his bases,” said Klaudia. “Just . . . be careful of what you say around him. What you do.”

Julian watched Crispin intently for a moment. The boy’s face was blank, but not in the way that Deckard’s or even Dr. Iver’s was. It didn’t seem like an intentional, controlled mask of apathy. He seemed like a machine that had been set to idle, awaiting the moment it would be switched on again. Julian felt as if he was looking precisely at a little gray man, someone who would obey any and all orders.

“Okay,” he said to Klaudia. “I will.”

Twenty-Five

Spring 2037

Camp Peary, Virginia

Nadiya breathed in the cool, artificially scented pine air and tried to shake off her unease. It wasn’t just the mock ski lodge, or the painted wooden mountains in the distance, or even the pile of documents (CONFIDENTIAL, CLEARANCE REQ., they read) on the table before her. It was Giselle’s presence, her nearness.

She hadn’t planned the words that had come out of her mouth on the walk to the helicopter. Cruel, impulsive words, born of fear and shame.

You made me look weak.

It wasn’t true. Not really. Nadiya’s reputation had been destroyed before Giselle had run down from the stands and sheltered her with her arms. If anything, Giselle had saved her from worse. Enveloped in Giselle’s embrace, Nadiya had managed to stanch her tears and steady her breathing. She had allowed herself to be comforted—if only for a moment.

And then Giselle had been pulled off her and Nadiya had been carried away. Only half-conscious by then, nauseous with fear, Dr. Iver had brought her back to the dean’s residence. She didn’t remember very much after that. Just Dr. Iver’s face hovering over hers, blurred by her darkening vision.

“Why?” Nadiya had choked out.

Before she could hear Dr. Iver’s answer, she slipped under.

The next morning, she had woken to find her hands bandaged and nodes on her temples. Nadiya ripped off the nodes and began to tear the bandages when Dr. Iver entered and sat down on the edge of her bed.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

Nadiya’s throat was too raw to speak.

“I’m not displeased with your performance. Neither is Professor Blanchard.”

She remained silent, everything in her head a jumble.

“I hope you understand why I couldn’t warn you. The element of surprise was essential. Otherwise it would have seemed staged.”

“Wasn’t it?” she asked hoarsely.

As ever, Nadiya could not get Dr. Iver to give up his secrets. She almost wanted to scream. Why? Why did you do it to me?