Page 44 of Dark Rebel's Fortune

Instead of answering, Kyra opened the faucet, letting the water run to muffle their voices, then motioned with her chin at the stalls, which were still occupied. "They are all safe," she kept her voice at a near whisper. "Arezoo, Donya, Laleh, and Azadeh, as well as Yasmin and her children. My team and I rescued all of them."

Parisa's hand flew to her chest. "We were told thatYasmin and her children were taken and that Javad was killed. Did you do that?"

"No. Those were the bad people. They killed Javad and took Yasmin and the children. We followed them, rescued Yasmin and her family, and eliminated the criminals, but there might be more of them, which is why I need you, your sons, Soraya, and Rana to come with me."

Parisa pressed a hand to her mouth, grief flashing across her features before being replaced by fear. "My sons are?—"

"In danger," Kyra finished for her. "The same people who took your nieces and Yasmin's family will come for them next. They're after children with specific genetic traits that run in your family."

"What traits?" Parisa looked incredulous.

"I can't explain right now. What you need to know is that these people are part of a secret organization with ties to the Revolutionary Guard. That's why I couldn't just come to your house and talk to you. Soraya's husband is in the Guard, and he arranged for all the men guarding you. They all answer to him."

Parisa frowned. "But his own daughters were taken."

"He might not be affiliated with the people in the Guard who work with that secret organization, but by using Guard resources, he might be exposing you to more danger."

"Where would we go?" Parisa asked.

"I work with a resistance group that's been tracking their activities. We've already extracted your nieces to a safe location outside the country, and Yasmin's family is at our safe house now. I want to take you and your boys to the safe house as well, but it will require some cunning."

Parisa studied her, suspicion returning to her gaze. "Take off your face covering," she commanded suddenly. "I want to see who I'm talking to."

Kyra glanced at the stall before lifting the swath of fabric to reveal her face. This was a women-only space, and even the most pious and devout were allowed to reveal their faces to other women.

Recognition dawned in Parisa's eyes, followed by disbelief. "You look like..." she began, then stopped, studying Kyra's features intently. "You look a lot like my mother when she was young. Who are you?"

It was a question Kyra had been both expecting and dreading.

"I'm your eldest sister Kyra's daughter," she said, watching Parisa's reaction carefully.

Her sister gasped, taking an involuntary step back. "That's impossible. Kyra died childless in America."

Kyra shook her head. "She didn't die, and she had a daughter. Me." The half-truth felt bitter on her tongue, but now wasn't the time for the full revelation. The truth was too complicated and too loaded to explain in a few minutes in a public bathroom.

"Where is she then?" Parisa demanded, a fragile hope flickering in her eyes. "Where is my sister?"

Kyra chose her words carefully. "I can't tell you everything until our entire family is out of danger, minus the husbands, that is. Soraya and Rana are married to members of the Revolutionary Guard."

Parisa's eyes narrowed, studying Kyra with the intensity of someone trying to reconcile impossible facts. "How do I know that you are who you say you are? You could be with those horrible people who killed Javad, and you might be trying to trick me to get me and the rest of the family away from the guards Fareed got for us."

That was a valid question, and Kyra prayed that the proof she had would suffice.

She held up her hand, revealing the two rings Jasmine had given her—the rings Kyra had left in her jewelry box, not knowing she would never return for them. "These belong to Kyra, and she gave them to me. Do you recognize them? I know it was many years ago, and you were a little girl back then, but maybe you remember?"

Parisa stared at the rings, her composure cracking slightly. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above the gold bands as if afraid they might disappear if touched.

"This one was a present from our grandmother," she whispered, touching the one with intricate leaves. "The other one was from Mother, a present right before Kyra left for America. She said it was a loanand that she expected Kyra to return it in person." She looked up, conflict written across her features. "These could have been stolen." She narrowed her eyes at her. "Or pried from her dead fingers."

The door of one of the stalls opening startled them both, and Kyra let the swath of fabric she'd moved aside fall back into place, hiding her face. Parisa leaned over the sink and pretended to wash a stain out of her sleeve.

"It won't come off!" she said loudly. "You said to rub it hard. I'm rubbing!"

Kyra was stunned by how quickly and effortlessly Parisa had come up with a charade to explain why the two of them were loitering next to running water.

"Rub harder," Kyra said, demonstrating on her own sleeve.

"Are you okay in there?" the guard yelled from the entrance.

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