Page 115 of Winterveil

Giselle sat beside him, also dressed in civilian clothes: a pair of loose jeans and a fluttery white blouse. Her hair was only slightly tamed and she still looked wan, exhausted. There was nothing else in the room except the circle of chairs and a low table. Julian was reminded again of going to see Aurelian in the psych ward, hunched with his mother in weary silence as the visiting hour ticked down.

The door opened and Julian sat up with a start.

Nadiya stepped in, wearing civilian attire of her own: a black leather jacket and belted black trousers. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her usual sleek, high ponytail forgone. When Giselle saw her, a look of unabashed joy and relief came into her eyes. It would have been impossible to miss the increasingly moony stares between the two of them.

Klaudia entered at last. Julian had expected his heartbeat to steady, but instead his pulse kicked into an uneven rhythm. She was wearing a navy cardigan and skirt set, very much like what she had worn in the courtroom sketches Julian had seen all those years ago. Her dark curls were shiny; one errant strand clung to her lower lip.

For a moment, Julian was transported to another world. A world where the four of them met under completely different circumstances, as ordinary teenagers, not as conscripts, not as reluctant allies. Maybe they wouldn’t have even been friends—they were both too alike and not. But at least they would’ve had the choice. At least Julian would have been able to sidle up to Klaudia at a party—or, more realistically, a chess tournament. He would have tried to charm her, as he always did, and maybe it would have worked, but more likely she would’ve rebuffed him with her typical coldness.

But they would’ve had the chance to pretend. To play at normalcy. He could have given Klaudia the girlhood that had been stolen from her. If she even wanted that. If she even wanted that with him.

Deckard’s voice, both sharp and icy, returned Julian to the present. “Look alive, agents.”

“So we’re officially agents now?” Nadiya asked flatly. “Even though we didn’t complete the mission the way you wanted?”

“You came close enough,” Deckard said. “I trust that, in the real world, without the safety net of the simulation, you will follow my commands to the letter.”

Klaudia stood behind her chair, gripping the back of it rather than sitting. “You trust that we’ll execute an innocent man on your orders.”

“Innocent?” Deckard raised a brow. “You presume a great deal about Moritz Satow.”

“My presumption is based on the information provided. We have been given no evidence to suggest that Dr. Satow is guilty of a crime that would sanction his murder under international law. Unless, of course, you’ve been hiding something from us.” Klaudia’s tone was nakedly bitter, a challenge in her gaze.

“This is a matter of utmost discretion, requiring precarious maneuvering. It has been necessary to keep you in the dark.”

“That’s a pathetic excuse,” Julian said. “Come on, Deckard, are you even trying?”

Deckard’s eyes narrowed. “Ordinarily a clandestine officer would undergo years of training before they were allowed into the field. Your backgrounds would be thoroughly checked; you would be tested in every way imaginable. Under such pressure, most potential agents fold.”

Your backgrounds would be thoroughly checked. Julian did not believe that Deckard had truly neglected that step. The staticky echo of Aurelian’s screams made Julian’s skin crawl. By what shadowy means had Deckard acquired that recording? And what else did he have to hold over their heads?

“So we’re going into this dangerous, vitally important mission with a fraction of the usual training an agent receives?” Nadiya bit out. “If it’s so important, why not dedicate more time to preparing us? Or choose agents with more experience?”

“Time is of the essence, Ms. Karam. And you four are the only ones with the precise set of skills that this mission requires.” Deckard’s face took on the faint look of chagrin. “If there were any other way, trust that you would not be sitting here in front of me.”

A moment of silence passed. Julian heard the faint whir of an air conditioner kicking on.

Quietly, Giselle said, “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“Your ethical code is admirable,” Deckard said, “but this is much bigger than a single man. We are on the precipice of an event that could alter the course of the war and plunge the entire world into chaos and destruction. You will save millions of lives by ending just one.”

“Spare us the platitudes,” Julian said irritably.

Klaudia gave a slight nod of agreement. “Tell us exactly what Satow has done, and why he needs to die.”

“Soon enough,” Deckard said. “Soon enough.”

“Are you going to at least explain what happened in the simulation?” Nadiya demanded. “Why was it . . . my house?”

“It was a test of your psychological fortitude. And you passed.” Deckard smiled thinly. “Congratulations.”

“But how?” Nadiya pressed. “How did you know exactly what it looked like? How did you re-create it, down to every single detail. . . .”

“We have our means” was all Deckard replied.

A beat passed, but he didn’t elaborate.

“And I suppose it was also a test of our psychological fortitude,” said Julian, “when you shot at us with real fucking bullets.”