Forty-Seven
Rural Virginia
Above the blue haze of the mountains, dawn came in soft pinks and limpid golds. The roads were quiet and empty, narrowing
as they climbed farther up the peaks.
Julian had just crossed the Virginia state line when the burning in his eyes became unbearable. He had been driving for nine
straight hours and his contact lenses were so dry that they felt like chips of glass. Through the haze of exhaustion he saw
a sign for a rest stop and pulled over, parking against the curb of an abandoned-looking gas station.
There, he reached into the glove compartment and took out his spare pair of glasses. He removed his contacts, wincing. Then
he put his glasses on and blinked to dampen his eyes, the world coming into focus again. Green shoots climbed between the
cracks in the asphalt, vines repossessing the rusted gas pumps.
But the mart attached to the gas station turned out not to be abandoned after all. Julian stumbled inside, squinting at the
sudden brightness. Not trusting the stale pastries or the sausages in blistering vats of grease, Julian bought himself a Styrofoam
cup of coffee, black. It burned his tongue when he sipped it.
The cashier seemed as surprised to see him as he was to have ended up there. When he handed her his Amex, she frowned.
“Never seen a card like that before,” she said. “Just passing through?”
“No,” Julian said. “Not really.” He removed a twenty from his wallet and laid it on the counter instead. “Keep the change.”
Julian returned to his car and sat for a moment, savoring the warmth of the coffee if not its taste.
When he looked into the rearview mirror, he saw a pale face with dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes.
He angled the mirror away. Checking the GPS on Landon’s phone revealed that Valeran was less than an hour away.
He set the coffee in the cupholder and turned back onto the highway.
As he made his way up the mountains, his Porsche began to struggle with the sharp incline of the road. The engine spluttered
and the wheels disturbed the dust, making it rise in clouds that partially obscured his view. But without hesitation, Julian
drove on.
He had just managed to glimpse the dome of the amphitheater in the distance when a guard stepped out into the road. Julian
barely had time to brake and cut the engine before two more guards swarmed the car, their guns drawn.
“Get out,” ordered one of them. “With your hands up.”
Julian was becoming far too accustomed to having guns pointed at him. It was not exactly a form of character development he
found inspiring. He turned off the car and stepped out slowly, arms raised over his head.
“What are you doing here?” another guard barked.
“Re-enrolling,” Julian said.
The guards glanced at one another, expressions ones of consternation. “That’s not allowed,” the first one said, though he
sounded uncertain. Julian imagined they didn’t often see students trying to break into Valeran.
Careful to keep his hands within sight, Julian removed his watch and held it out to the nearest guard. “Here. You can have
it. Just let me speak to Dr. Iver.”
The guard frowned. Julian also imagined they weren’t used to being bribed.
“This isn’t a pawnshop,” the guard said.
“No shit. Take it to an actual pawnshop. It’s a vintage Rolex. It’s worth at least fifty K.” Julian glanced over his shoulder.
“You can have the car, too.”
Relieved of his watch and his car keys, Julian was escorted back through Valeran’s gates. There was another hour before the
start of classes, but some students were milling around the lawn. When they saw him, they stared unabashedly, mouths open
in silent shock. Julian searched their faces but didn’t find Jane or Mikhail among them.
Or Klaudia.
The guards deposited him outside Dr. Iver’s office. Julian waited anxiously as one guard entered, closing the door behind
him. Strains of muffled conversation came through the wood, but Julian couldn’t make out any words.
When the guard emerged again, he looked vaguely chastened. “Go ahead.”
Julian’s pulse spiked. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Dr. Iver was standing behind his desk, staring idly down at a stack of papers but clearly not reading them. When Julian entered,
he looked up and said, “Mr. Joyce-Young. What an unexpected pleasure.”
Julian strode forward and slammed his palms flat on the desk. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Klaudia.”
“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?”
“Nothing,” said Mikhail. “But we, uh . . . sort of assumed you were dead.”
“Dead?”
Jane’s gaze dropped to the floor. Mikhail nodded grimly.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because,” Jane said. She looked up at him, and abruptly tears leaped to her eyes. “You disappeared the same time as Klaudia.”
Julian’s pulse raced. “What happened to Klaudia?”
Jane just shook her head and looked away. Mikhail put an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. When he met
Julian’s gaze, his face was both weary and pained.
“Klaudia tried to kill herself,” he said.