Page 54 of Dark Rebel's Mystery

Once inside, Kyra gripped the handle of the broom trolley that had now become a better friend to her than her favorite dagger, which she'd left under her mattress at the camp.

The familiar whoosh of overhead fans, the metallic clang of spoons on breakfast trays, the hiss and pop of old equipment—it was all so normal and routine that it was hard to believe the evil that lived in the East Wing.

The corridor where the special prisoners were kept smelled of mold and fear no matter how much cleaning solution she used to scrub the floor and the peeling walls.

Along the way, she gathered tidbits of intelligence from open doors and overheard conversations, which were of little interest to her. Pushing her cart along the third floor, she passed cell after cell until she reached the one marked with the number twelve. She listened for footsteps to ensure no one was nearby and stopped under the pretense of cleaning a scuff mark on the floor near the door. When everything remained quiet, Kyra rose on her toes and peered through the small glass window.

The woman was awake, lying on her side this time with just one wrist and one ankle shackled to the frame. She was stripped down to a thin shift, and a new bruise was splashed across her left cheek. The prisoner's eyes seemed to stare at nothing, but a flicker in them suggested she wasn't as broken as she looked. There was defiance there, a tiny ember she still clung to.

Kyra silently prayed that it wouldn't be extinguished before she was saved.

I'm here. I see you,she wanted to tell her.You're not alone. Hold on a little longer. Help is coming.

But there was no speaking to the woman through the thick door without alerting everyone else, so Kyra had no way to communicate that salvation was near.Not soon enough. So, she merely observed, sending positive energy to her sister-in-pain and hoping she felt it somehow and it helped her endure.

As footsteps echoed off the walls, Kyra quickly returned her attention to the scuff mark, scrubbing vigorously, and when the footsteps passed without halting, she risked another glance in the window.

The woman shifted her gaze as if she sensed someone was watching her, and a small smile curved her lips. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but Kyra's heart leaped at the thought the woman felt her gaze and knew that she had a friend on the other side.

Reluctantly, she forced her eyes away.

Too long at the door would raise suspicion.

Guiding her trolley, she headed down the corridor and around the corner. She wanted to smash that door open, throw the woman over her shoulder, and sprint out of the compound, but she wasn't suicidal.

During the midday break, Kyra collected her lunch from the kitchen and found an out-of-the-way corner in the utility room to rest. She had to maintain the charade that she was a lowly maid who needed a few minutes to catch her breath and liked to eat in solitude.

Most of the others gathered in the kitchen to eat and gossip, but she couldn't mingle with the people who knew Parisa and might realize she wasn't her despite the similar build and face covering.

She wondered how Soran was managing without her. Was Zara giving him a hard time for not talking sense into her?

Probably.

The entire region was on high alert, resources were scarce, and there were bigger fish to fry. They were counting on her for the more significant objectives, and she was letting them down.

Kyra pressed a hand to her pendant and murmured a small prayer for the safety of her people and success in rescuing the woman and the other prisoners as soon as they were moved out of this place.

Her moment of peace was shattered by a bark of laughter in the corridor that she recognized by now. With her heart kicking into overdrive, she edged closer to the door.

"Yes, sir," a man said, voice dripping with a subservient mixture of fear and awe. "I'll ensure that your instructions are followed to the letter." The footsteps receded, and the conversation was lost in the shuffle of other voices echoing in the hallway.

What instructions?

Were they going to do something to the woman in twelve?

There was no way Kyra could return to that corridor without arousing suspicion. She had to move to the West Wing and mop the floors there. Could she pretend to have forgotten some cleaning implement or solution on the third floor in the East Wing?

Her gut knotting with worry, Kyra made her way to the western building and started her methodical progression on the floors.

The officer in charge of staff stopped by her when she was on her knees, scrubbing a stubborn stain on the first floor.

"Make sure to do a thorough job today. We need the facility spotless by the end of this week. Gleaming everything, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," she murmured meekly, nodding but not raising her head.

A few minutes later, as a group of guards passed by her, she heard them talking about the commander preparing the facility for higher-ups' visit. This could mean one of two things: The higher-ups were arriving because of the prisoners currently held in the facility, or they were bringing a fresh crop of detainees with them.

The commander might want to remove the current prisoners before the visit and ship them out, as the day of their transport was approaching.

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