Page 149 of Winterveil

“Is that concern I hear in your voice?”

“Just tell me where she is,” he bit out.

Dr. Iver shuffled some of the papers, allowing Julian to stew for a moment in silent fury. Then: “She’s here at Valeran.”

Relief made his knees go weak. “Let me see her.”

“Be assured that she has absolutely no interest in seeing you,” Dr. Iver said evenly. “Especially not in this state. You reek of alcohol and look like the poster child for a PSA on drunk driving. You’re lucky you didn’t end up smeared on a highway barricade.”

Julian leaned forward, gritting his teeth. “Let me see her. Now.”

“It seems you need a reminder of how things work around here. You don’t give me orders. No matter how much your father donates.”

At the mention of his father, Julian’s heart skipped a beat. And then came the tightening in the pit of his stomach.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll do what you want. Whatever you want. Just let me see her.”

Dr. Iver cocked his head. “You’re giving yourself up? Rejecting the gift of freedom?”

Julian swallowed. “Yes.”

“You understand,” Dr. Iver continued, “that your father will never take you back after this. You’ve spurned his generosity and made yourself look like a capricious little ingrate.” An almost-smile played on Dr. Iver’s lips. “More so than usual. I doubt very much he’ll be offering Valeran another million in exchange for you to be coddled.”

If his previous stint at the academy had been coddled, Julian dreaded to see what Valeran would be like without his father’s protection.

“I understand,” he said.

“You’re submitting yourself not only to Valeran but to the whims and devices of the government—whatever they may demand of you. You understand that, too, don’t you?”

Another swallow. “Yes.”

“Very well,” said Dr. Iver. “Then welcome back, Mr. Joyce-Young. Please divest yourself of your personal effects and return to your dorm room. I’ll expect you back in your classes tomorrow.”

Julian didn’t allow the words to sink in. “Where is she?” he demanded again. “I want to see her.”

Dr. Iver’s expression was perfectly impassive.

“You will,” he said. “After all, the show must go on.”

Only when he had left the office and begun to walk toward the dorms did Julian consider what Dr. Iver had said. The show must go on. Were they still expected to complete the mission? Surely not. Surely they had done enough to displease Deckard and to enrage Chane. Surely that meant they were off the hook.

He should have asked about Nadiya and Giselle, too. They must have been returned to Valeran. He cringed to imagine the way they would look at him, when—if—they saw each other again. They would think he was a traitor. They might think this has been his plan all along, to betray them and save himself. He wasn’t sure he could convincingly argue that it hadn’t.

By the time he reached his room, his adrenaline had ebbed and tiredness was beginning to take its place. He just needed to see Klaudia, and then he could rest. He had spent all ten hours in the car thinking about her, rehearsing what he would say. If he could just—

Julian fumbled with his key, his movements clumsy with exhaustion. He turned it in the lock and pushed open the door.

He was greeted with a yelp of alarm. Mikhail shot up in bed and threw the covers over himself. Jane’s hands flew to rebutton her blouse. Their hair was mussed and they were both bright red in the face.

Julian was too shocked to feel embarrassed. He froze in the threshold.

“What are you doing here?” Mikhail asked, at the same time that Jane blurted out, “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Julian said, blinking. “I . . .”

He averted his gaze as Jane and Mikhail dressed. Once they were standing and fully clothed, Jane said in a soft, strained voice, “We didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”

“Why? What did Dr. Iver tell you?”