The base hospital was quiet at this hour, and faint orange light leaked through the curtains. The overhead lights were dimmed, and a faint repetitive beeping came from the next room. Spalko scowled at the ceiling, head still burning from the concussion. The medic had insisted on a saline drip, and the slight sting of the needle in her arm was distracting. He had also insisted on cuffing her to the hospital bed, as if she were in any position to escape. The base was located on a frozen strip of land in the Aleutian Islands, and the only thing for 100 kilometers was tundra and sea ice.

Dressed in a clean nightshirt, ribs bandaged and head wound sutured, Spalko was nonetheless in a tense mood. She knew that Ross would turn up sooner or later, and she was mildly curious about the deal he would offer. Her relationship with the Union was complicated, but she was not ready to create a permanent rift by assisting the Americans. Still, she would listen to Ross' proposal, if only to buy her recovery time. She knew they would be eager to interrogate her again, and she needed to let her injuries heal.

The tapping of footsteps came from the hall, and General Ross appeared in the doorway. He cut an imposing figure in the dim light, uniform crisp and tailored and heavy brow furrowed. He flipped the light switch and entered uninvited.

"Good morning, Dr. Spalko."

She snorted in response.

"You are a very rude woman," he said chidingly, crossing his arms over his chest. He did not sit, and Spalko wondered if his posture were meant to intimidate her.

She looked at him coldly. "Why do you bother me at this hour?"

"I am a busy man," he shrugged, "and I wanted to pay you a visit."

She tugged at the cuff on her left wrist as he continued. "Jones told you I was prepared to offer you amnesty?"

"Yes."

"What else did he say?"

"Nothing," she supplied, careful to sound disinterested.

"Well, we are developing an experimental weapon with some of the materials recovered at Akator. The assembly is much too dangerous for an American scientist-"

"—But not a Soviet," she finished.

"Exactly. I want you and Jones to oversee the project."

"Why Jones? He is very accomplished, but he is no scientist."

"He knows Akator. If we need to make a return trip, he will be an asset."

The offer was tempting, but as soon as Spalko began to entertain the idea, she felt a flash of anger. Was she so weak as to betray the Soviet Union for her personal freedom? Narrowing her eyes, she addressed Ross.

"And why do you think I would betray the Union?"

He took a minute to respond, uncrossing his arms and pressing his palms together thoughtfully. "…Because, Dr. Spalko, the Union has not been kind to you. Your own comrades were happy to watch you freeze to death, or starve, or succumb to injuries-"

She silenced him with a hiss. The words cut like a razor, but she was determined to remain stoic. "That is enough, General."

He shrugged, the light of a smile appearing in his eyes. "As you wish. I will return tomorrow for your decision."

She glared at his retreating back until he disappeared around the curve of the hallway.

Indy paused, and knocked softly on the doorframe. The base hospital was nearly deserted, and he could see his reflection in the polished linoleum floor. Ross had returned his fedora, but his satchel was long gone, probably somewhere in the wreckage of his apartment in Xi'an. Standing still, he pushed up the brim of his hat with one finger.

"Spalko?"

Her eyes flickered towards him, but she said nothing. The room was sparse and scrupulously clean, and Indy dropped into the only available chair, squeezed between the bed and the far wall. Through the gap in the curtains, Indy could see snow falling, settling into drifts and eddies against the perimeter fence. The view was distorted by a coating of ice on the windowpane.

Reluctantly, Indy turned his attention back to the task at hand. Spalko watched silently, waiting for him to speak. Her forehead was hidden by bandages, but he didn't miss the slight narrowing of her eyes. She was still angry.

"We should talk."

She let the words hang for a moment before she responded. "Yes, Jones. We should."

Indy had prepared a speech, but his thought were moving sluggishly. He started with a question. "Did you accept Ross' offer?'

She shook her head quickly. "I need time to deliberate."

"Fair enough."

There was a long silence, and Indy scratched his chin, preparing himself to speak.

Spalko interrupted. "Surely you came here for a purpose?"

"I did." Indy took a breath and averted his eyes. "I'm sorry, Spalko. I should never have helped Ross recapture you. I thought you had betrayed me, and-"

"—So you decided to even the score." Her tone was flat, but Indy didn't miss the quiet note of hurt.

"I guess I did. I was acting on what I knew at the time."

"Knew?"

"Assumed," he corrected briskly, "and I was wrong."

"Yes, you were."

Her imperious tone was beginning to irritate him, and he couldn't help but push back. "All that aside, you're not exactly being fair to me. I helped you leave Chistilishche."

"And? I am still a prisoner – nothing has changed."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Spalko, that labor camp was a horrible place. We both know it." His thoughts flashed back to the freezing cell and his first glimpse of Irina since Peru. She had looked haggard and sick, probably days away from death. The memory set his stomach roiling, and he shoved it away.

"At least I was with my countrymen. Here, I am among enemies."

"That's not true," Indy responded without thinking. "I'm not your enemy."

"That remains to be seen," she snapped, pointing towards the door. "Now, I want to rest."

It was midnight, and Spalko was lying still, eyes glued to the door. In her peripheral vision was the window, reinforced with a heavy grate, and behind her was a solid wall. She had always noticed such details, but they occupied her attention much more intensely now. In Siberia, staying alert was a matter of survival. Now, recuperating in the base hospital, her paranoia was a hard habit to break.

She hadn't slept well the previous night, plagued by blood-drenched nightmares and a persistent tremor in her limbs. She heard the crack of steel truncheon on bone, felt the cold barrel of a pistol pressed to the base of her skull, and smelled the cigar smoke that heralded the arrival of the guard. Chistilishche was a blur of violence and shame, and she hated the way it had ground her down. Her bones would knit, her scars would fade, but she wasn't sure how to manage this new feeling of powerlessness. The poison of the gulag had seeped into her bones, along with the knowledge that she had been brought low by her own treachery. She had deserved every strike, every indignity, every day spent dizzy with hunger, and this realization cut like a knife.

Ignoring her stinging eyes, she dug her fingernails hard into her palm. Spalko refused to weep, but something about the past few days had made her feel vulnerable, unstable. Jones had a point; her odds for survival were much greater here at the base, but she still felt adrift. Years ago, she had stolen one of her brothers' schoolbooks, and she'd read a story about a man lost at sea. Curled up within a dim circle of lantern light, she'd imagined floating in a vast expanse of water, with only the glow of stars to light her way. She'd read how the man located the north star and ascertained his location with simple calculations, and she'd devoured the account of building a still to extract potable water from salt. Now, she imagined herself aimless and drifting in a world within which she didn't belong.

She supposed she could accept Ross' offer and take the information back to the Soviets. Ross had mentioned an experimental weapon, and this was valuable intelligence that could help her regain the respect of her comrades. Yes, she had failed at Akator, but she was still an accomplished scientist. Armed with useful information, she was confident that she could regain her former position. Slowly, the seed of an idea began to take root. Having an objective made her feel calmer, but it didn't completely banish the distress of the past few months.

Resigned to sleeplessness, Spalko listened to the distant shuffle of hospital slippers, the occasional chime of machinery. She was surprised when heavy footsteps approached her door. There was a brief knock, and Jones appeared in the doorway, clutching a folder in his hands. She stared at him in surprise; after their tense conversation earlier in the day, she'd expected him to avoid her. Without asking, he settled into the chair, dropping the folder onto the small table.

"I couldn't sleep. I'll leave if you want, but-"

"—It does not matter." Despite the tension, she was glad to see him. She didn't relish the idea of being alone with her thoughts.

"Okay, I'll stay." His expression was still guarded, but he moved to open the folder, flipping through stacks of paper. Spalko read silently over his shoulder, and quickly gathered that the dossier related to Akator.

"A gift from Ross?"

Jones nodded. "Not a lot here, but he says he sent for the rest of the records."

He continued his perusal of the file, forehead furrowed. Spalko wondered what had brought him to the base hospital. Surely this studying could be done more comfortably in his own quarters. He dragged a fingertip over the paper, reading line by line. A handful of polaroids were included in the file, and she recognized them from Ross' office in Iquitos. Raising her eyes, she realized that Jones was staring at her.

"You look tired."

"Truthfully, Jones, I haven't been sleeping well."

"Because of what happened at Chistilishche?" he asked incisively, flipping the folder shut.

She nodded slowly. "It was a hard place."

"Well, as I said earlier, you aren't alone. I have this entire dossier to read" – he waved the packet in the air "—and I'm pretty tough to get rid of."

She scoffed at this, silently glad for his presence. As he turned back to the stack of papers, she let her eyes drift shut. Jones laid a hand over hers, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm glad we're on good terms again."

It was the closest thing she'd get to another apology, and she decided not to argue. Strained and complicated as their relationship was, she felt more secure with Jones beside her. Somehow he'd known that she would welcome his presence, and he'd also sensed that she would never ask. Spalko knew her own character; she was proud and aloof, always cognizant of the ways in which weakness could be exploited. And yet, half asleep with Jones' hand curled over her own, she didn't feel uneasy. Tightening her grip of his hand, she responded quietly, "As am I."