Page 48 of Winterveil

“Well, then,” he said, “why don’t you ask him?”

As an idea, it was simple. But in execution, it felt almost impossible. Nadiya hadn’t received another message on her tablet from Giselle all day. She’d seen her in the dining hall but hadn’t had the courage to approach her. Not after what she’d dreamed.

When she joined Dr. Iver for dinner that night, she had already run over the words in her mind, practiced her lines. But as soon as she sat down, Dr. Iver sensed that something was off. He didn’t touch his food, and instead watched her with the canny, probing stare of a hawk.

“What’s wrong, Nadiya?”

Her fingers hovered above her fork and knife. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she said, “I think there’s something off with the nodes.”

Dr. Iver regarded her.

“When I was with Professor Blanchard the other day,” she went on, “he had me put on a pair of them, and then he . . . he put thoughts into my mind. My own nightmares. How is that possible?”

A moment passed, and Dr. Iver steepled his hands. “Perhaps I should have been more forthright about this with you. But part of Professor Blanchard’s purpose here is to continue crucial neurotechnological research. The work is CIA-funded and part of important government initiatives. These are confidential, of course, and keeping you in the dark was what I believed would keep you safe.”

“So we’re all just rats in a lab?” Nadiya asked bitterly.

“No. You are highly valued future agents. Your training here is just as imperative as Professor Blanchard’s work. I firmly believe that your generation will be the one to finally end the war.”

Nadiya’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t find words.

“And you,” Dr. Iver went on, “are the greatest work of my life. There is no one else in the world like you, Nadiya, and nothing of greater value to me.”

Her heart softened, and she hated that it did. She hated that all her questions, all her indignation, drained out of her when Dr. Iver’s voice was so gentle and his eyes were so filled with love. At least, she thought it was love. It had to be.

There is no one else in the world like you. It was the same thing he had said about Giselle. Her throat tightened. Giselle, who she had walked with in the landscape of her dreams. Maybe she should have asked about that, too, but the thought of it made Nadiya’s stomach clench. It felt like a betrayal, a violation of that sacred space that they had shared only when sleeping.

This would be the first secret she kept from Dr. Iver.

“I don’t want to do it again,” Nadiya said. “I don’t want to see . . .”

Her real father, lying in the growing puddle of blood. His broken, desperate moaning. Help me, Nadiya. . . .

“No,” Dr. Iver said with conviction. “I will not make you endure that again.” He reached out, brushing back her bangs and placing a hand against her forehead. He did this often—as if feeling for a fever. “But I have something else to propose to you instead.”

Nadiya tensed. “What?”

“I think you’ll be pleased about it. A representative from the Farm is coming next week to take a look around the campus. They want to see what progress is being made, and which students are the most promising.”

The Farm was the nickname for the CIA’s training facility in Williamsburg. Several times a year, agents from the Farm visited Valeran, sitting in on classes, watching students throw each other against the mats during combat training, observing target practice. As much as it was a test of the students, it was also a test of Dr. Iver. They wanted to make sure that the CIA was right to keep investing in Valeran—and in him as headmaster.

Dr. Iver was solicitous about these visits. He ensured the campus was spotless, every uniform pressed, every student on their best behavior. He knocked students down the rankings board if they fooled around. If they made spectacular failures of themselves, he threatened expulsion.

“All right,” Nadiya said. “What do you want me to do?”

“As you know, we have recently received a generous donation from Auric, including their new line of military-grade weapons.”

Nadiya frowned. “Those Luster guns . . .”

“Not up to your standards, I know.” Dr. Iver smiled. “But the CIA is curious to know how they perform. If anyone can make a mediocre weapon look like an M1 in its prime, it’s you. I thought we might have a little exhibition.”

An exhibition. It was unprecedented. Dr. Iver had never arranged a demonstration for their Farm visitors, likely thinking it would come across as desperate. Maybe Valeran’s funding was at risk. Maybe his job was at risk. Or maybe it was Auric, pulling the strings. If they had his endorsement of their Luster products, it might convince the army to adopt them as crew-served ordnance.

Nadiya was the best combat student at Valeran. Even without being officially ranked, it was not up for debate. And that was all thanks to Dr. Iver. He had taken a frightened little girl and turned her into a soldier.

She did not know who or what she would have become without him. And so it was easy for Nadiya to say, “Yes. Of course I’ll do it.”

In her bedroom that night, Nadiya went through her usual routine of checking her body for injuries that had gone unnoticed. She found a flowering bruise on her left knee and couldn’t remember how she might have gotten it.