Twenty-Nine
Camp Peary, Virginia
Nadiya couldn’t sleep.
Outside, the sky had been shaded an artificial black, pricked through with false stars. Silvery light bled from the pretending
moon. She rolled over in bed, once and then again, restless. The springs of the mattress creaked.
All I ever did was care about you.
Only a few feet away, Giselle was curled in her bed, red-gold hair unfurling across the pillow. The distance between them
was intractable. In the half darkness, Nadiya watched the slow rise and fall of her body beneath the sheets and listened to
the soft rhythm of her breathing.
You care about everything—especially things you shouldn’t.
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 . . .”
“They were able to escape the raid on the lodge,” replied Deckard, and Nadiya had no idea if he was telling the truth. The
last she remembered seeing of Giselle was her throwing off her covers and screaming. Had she and Klaudia really managed to
get away? Or was this another layer of manipulation?
“Unfortunately,” Deckard went on, “you two were captured, and you didn’t have a chance to grab your L-pills.”
“You pulled us out of the bed in the middle of the night, asshole,” Julian snapped.
Deckard ignored the invective. “If you’d kept your L-pills on your person, you would be able to die honorably for your country
without divulging national secrets. And you would be able to avoid the unpleasant part that comes next.”
Nadiya’s stomach hollowed. “You’re not serious.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Deckard’s face.
“I am,” he said. “But because I’m feeling benevolent, I’ll offer you a bargain. If one of you gives up your information without
protest, you will walk free, while the other remains imprisoned.”
“So you want us to sell the other out,” Nadiya said angrily.
“It’s a common negotiating tactic.”
Nadiya looked over at Julian, noticing the way his throat pulsed when he swallowed.
He met her gaze and then glanced away, almost shamefully.
Was he considering it? Admittedly, she was considering it.
Deckard had clearly done this on purpose—taken the two members of their foursome who had the least sympathy
between them. The ones who would be the most likely to give the other up.
It was a classic prisoner’s dilemma. Defection was the dominant strategy.
Klaudia’s words echoed. No matter what they offer you, never defect. Trying to pit us against each other is only to their benefit. And then: But that’s assuming the police are truthful about their intentions. In this circumstance, it’s never safe to assume that.
Deckard could be lying. He had certainly misled them before. Nadiya bit down hard on her lower lip, thoughts jumbled.
Beside her, Julian lifted his head. He met Deckard’s gaze unflinchingly and said, “Fuck you.”
Nadiya was so surprised to hear the words she almost laughed. Julian Joyce-Young III, a martyr for the cause? It seemed impossible,
and it made her feel ashamed to not have spoken first. She was surely more principled than Julian.
“Very well,” Deckard said. He gestured to the black-clad men. “Then the next phase begins.”
The men descended on them, hauling Nadiya to her feet. They took her by the arms again, pressing her between them, and marched
her out of the room. She was rushed down a metal corridor. Behind her, she heard Julian cursing, struggling against his captors.
They came to a pair of adjoining rooms, all four walls made of glass. Nadiya’s wrists were uncuffed, and she felt a brief
flicker of relief before she was shoved inside the room on the left. She fell to her knees, catching herself on her hands
before her face could hit the floor.
Julian was thrust into the room next door. He was perfectly visible through the shared wall of glass, but the rooms must have
been soundproofed, because she could only see his mouth moving noiselessly.
Static crackled from the speaker on the ceiling, followed by the deafening whine of microphone feedback. Deckard’s voice cut through.
“My offer still stands,” he said. “Any time you want to walk free, just say the word.”
Nadiya watched Deckard through the glass, taking in the hard lines of his frame, the unyielding set of his jaw, the face that
held no emotion at all. He was the perfect gray man, the perfect clandestine officer. Hardly human at all, just an extension
of the CIA’s will.
Hatred made her blood run hot in her veins. Deckard turned and vanished down the corridor without even a glance over his shoulder.
Nadiya turned to Julian. Defiance flashed in his green eyes. It almost satisfied her to see it.
How long would Deckard keep them here? Would he starve them of food, of water, of sunlight, until they were broken enough
to defect? For all his bravado now, Nadiya couldn’t imagine Julian Joyce-Young III, privileged golden boy that he was, enduring
that kind of indignity for very long.
The speakers crackled again. Both she and Julian looked up.
A desperate, panicked sobbing filled the glass cell. Nadiya stiffened, bewildered. It took her a moment to recognize the sound,
distorted as it was by static. It was only when the weeping turned to a high-pitched wail that Nadiya understood.
Giselle. It was Giselle’s voice, crying, screaming.
Nadiya rushed to the door and pounded on it. Her fists seemed to bounce off the glass. Deckard had lied—he had lied—and he’d captured Giselle and Klaudia, too. Maybe he was torturing them in some other room. And maybe he’d offered them the
same deal.
Her skin was electric as she beat the door, again and again. The sound of Giselle’s screams rained down on her. She had to
get out. She had to get to her, somehow—
In the midst of her panic, Nadiya’s gaze flitted to Julian. He wasn’t pounding on the door or throwing himself against the glass. Instead, he stood motionless in the center of the room, hands clapped over his ears, eyes squeezed shut.
What was he hearing? Klaudia’s screams? Nadiya had seen the way he looked at her.
She didn’t know how much time passed before her body seemed to give up on her. Her muscles quivered; her bones turned wobbly.
Though her mind was still racing and her heart was still pounding, she could fight no more.
For all her training, for all her discipline and strength, this had defeated her. Nadiya slumped against the wall and slid
to the floor.
Julian was also huddled against the wall, knees drawn to his chest. His arms were braced over his head, still trying vainly
to shut out the sound.
No real thoughts were running through Nadiya’s mind as she shifted along the wall. She moved in slow, aching increments until
she was perfectly aligned with Julian, only the thick layer of glass between them. She could almost feel the pulsing warmth
of his body as his shoulders trembled with soundless weeping.
Julian looked up. Tears washed his cheeks. His proud, aristocratic face was pale with terror.
Even if they had been able to hear each other, Nadiya’s throat was too raw to speak. She leaned her head wearily against the
wall. On the other side, Julian did the same. They were two huddled masses in matching shapes, as if the glass were a mirror.
Tears trickled down Nadiya’s face. Giselle’s screams played through the speaker on a loop. But she didn’t call for Deckard.
She remained still, shoulder to shoulder with Julian, who stayed unmoving and silent, too.