Page 2 of Dark Rebel's Mystery

Kyra waited until Hamid and Zara were in position before moving down the ridge. The drainpipe was precisely where she needed it to be, and her enhanced vision picked out every handhold on her planned route. As always, her body seemed to know exactly what to do, moving with a fluid grace and power that felt as natural as breathing.

She shouldn't be that strong or that agile. Not even the youngest and fittest men in her team could match the kinds of feats that she found easy.

That was another odd thing about her. She just didn't age. In the past twenty years, not a single wrinkle had appeared on her face, and despite her long days in the sun and the hard life she was leading, her skin was just as smooth and as taut today as it had been in her youth.

The only possible explanation was that she'd been experimented on in that asylum she'd escaped from nearly two and a half decades ago, and she'd been changed into something that wasn't quite human.

Kyra shook her head. Now wasn't the time to ponder questions for which there were no answers, at least none that were available to her.

The first sign of the disturbance her people had caused was subtle—just enough movement at the western wall to draw attention away from where the rest of the team was about to infiltrate.

Two of the guards immediately moved to investigate while the others maintained their positions. Professional, disciplined, and familiar, but very surprising to find in these parts. An outpost in the middle of nowhere didn't justify elite forces.

She pushed the thought aside and began her ascent. The pipe held her weight easily as she climbed, her movements quick and silent.

Hamid and Zara escalated their diversion—voices arguing, the sound of a bottle breaking, enough to demand a response but not enough to trigger a full alert.

The roof was empty, just as their surveillance had suggested.

Kyra moved across it in a low crouch, using the ventilation units for cover. Her pendant grew warmer as she approached the eastern side of the building. The prisoners were close, she could almost feel them, their fear and hope mixing with her anticipation of the fight to come. Through her earpiece, she heard Soran's team reporting that they were in position.

Reaching the edge of the roof, she peered down. There were two guards below, their attention divided between keeping their eyes on their patrol route and the disturbance on the other side.

She could disable them both before they raised an alarm.

Her hands closed around the hilts of the two combat daggers sheathed at her waist, and as she pulled them out, she appreciated their solid weight and how good they felt in her palms.

Did she need to kill these men, though?

After her many years in the resistance, she should be inured to death and killing, and she was well aware that her sympathies might be misplaced, but she still couldn't bring herself to kill when she could achieve her objectives without ending lives.

She could just as easily incapacitate them.

Sheathing the daggers, Kyra measured the distance, calculated the trajectory, and then simply let her body fall.

The landing was silent, her feet and leg muscles absorbing the impact that should have shattered them. Before either guard could react, she had them both in sleeper holds, and they slumped unconscious seconds later.

"Eastern entrance clear," she whispered into her com. "Move in."

As she worked the electronic lock, Soran's team emerged from the shadows. Disabling security systems was another oddity of hers. Somehow, she knew how to crack them almost instinctively. It was as if she'd been trained to become an operative, and maybe she had. She had no idea what she had done before finding herself in the mental asylum, which in reality served to brainwash rebellious young women into obeying the regime and their parents' dictums.

Inside, her pendant led them straight to the interrogation room where the new prisoners were held—six political activists who'd dared to speak against the regime. Their eyes widened at the sight of her team, and their hope warred with disbelief.

"We're here to help," she told them. "Can you walk?"

They could, though one limped severely. She gestured for Zara to support him as they began to move toward the exit.

Everything was going smoothly.

Too smoothly.

Kyra's instincts screamed a warning seconds before the alarm sounded.

"We've got company," Soran said. "Four hostiles approaching from the west."

She pushed the prisoners toward the exit, where the rest of her team waited. "Get them out. I'll handle this."

"Kyra—" Soran started to protest.

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