Page 86 of Winterveil

She didn’t know how such cruel words had snuck into her mouth. Recalling them now made her stomach burn.

Sleep felt increasingly impossible. Nadiya rolled over to face the window. Snow flecked the glass. Klaudia’s bed was across the room, against the far wall, but Nadiya could still hear her shift. Evidently, Klaudia couldn’t sleep, either.

They hadn’t made any great progress today—all they had to show for their efforts was Giselle’s sketch and Klaudia’s penciled-in notes. The simulation remained impenetrable, the mission obscure. Klaudia had an excellent poker face, but Nadiya could see the frustration in the slight clench of her jaw, the tensing of her fingers into her palm.

And then there was Julian. He had been no help whatsoever. But his words pricked at Nadiya, too. Who are you without your weapons?

She hated that he had managed to get under her skin. She hated even more that she had been asking that same question herself since they had arrived in Traumstadt. What could she offer, bereft of her pistols and knives? What had all of Dr. Iver’s training been for? Where had her discipline gotten her?

At least I didn’t go on living a lie. Shutting everyone out. Pretending not to feel.

Nadiya buried her face into her pillow, willing her eyelids to grow heavy. But Giselle’s voice echoed in her mind, clear as a white-hot summer sky.

There was a sudden, distant rustling sound. Nadiya’s ears perked. The sound ceased, and she settled down again, sure she had imagined it. But then—

It was unmistakable now. The door to the lodge had opened downstairs. Nadiya shot up in bed.

From across the room, Klaudia roused, too. It took Giselle another moment to blearily lift her head. Nadiya reached for the lamp on her bedside table as the stairs creaked and groaned with the weight of footsteps.

She fumbled for the chain, panic cresting. And then the door to their room burst open.

Black-clad bodies swarmed in. They were cloaked by the darkness, half like shadows themselves. Even in the gloom, Nadiya recognized the bulk of bulletproof vests and the outline of guns under their shirts.

She scrambled out of bed, sheets tangling around her limbs. Giselle’s scream pierced the air and Nadiya rushed for her. But before she could reach her, a pair of powerful arms gripped Nadiya around the waist and a gloved hand was clapped over her mouth.

Her own scream was muffled. The room started to spin. One of the men jerked a hood over her head, and her vision was lost to total blackness.

Nadiya felt the whip of air as the men rushed her out of the lodge, arms twisted behind her back. Her bare feet slid in the cold, half-melted snow. She heard nothing except the men’s rough breathing and their boot steps—she was unable to figure out if they’d taken the others, too. Her heart raced but she tried to keep herself calm.

It’s just a simulation. It’s just a simulation. . . .

There was a scraping metallic sound and all of a sudden the ground beneath her feet was smooth and hard. The noises began to echo; the air was stiff. They were in some sort of corridor.

Another metallic groan and Nadiya was shoved to her knees. They met the floor with an audible crack. A pair of handcuffs slid around her wrist and the hood was yanked from her head.

Staring up into blinding fluorescent lights, Nadiya could make out little except the shifting of black-clad bodies. And then, beside her, someone else was cuffed and shoved to their knees. She turned her head as much as she could manage and her breath caught.

Julian.

His hair was mussed, shoulders heaving. He met her gaze through the glare of the lights, looking horrified and outraged in equal measure. Nadiya’s chest thumped. Were the others—

But before she could speak a word—to Julian or otherwise—a door opened. Familiar, polished dark shoes crossed the room toward them.

“Deckard,” Julian bit out. “The fuck is going on?”

Nadiya strained to make out his face through the interrogation lights beating down on them. As ever, Deckard’s expression revealed nothing.

“It seems you weren’t careful enough,” he said. “Your cover story has been blown. Someone has sold you out to your enemies.”

The man in the bowler hat? She and Julian had both had unpleasant interactions with him. Nadiya’s mind whirled. No, Deckard had said someone has sold you out.

Crispin. The bile of loathing rose in Nadiya’s throat.

“Great,” said Julian. “So we lost your game. Let us go.”

The corner of Deckard’s mouth twitched. “It’s not quite so simple. You’ve allowed yourself to fall into enemy hands. Which means that your enemies are free to do what they wish with you—including obtaining sensitive information from you, by any means necessary.”

“Where are the others?” Nadiya demanded. “Giselle and Klaudia . . .”