35. Kyra
35
KYRA
K yra woke well before dawn, the chill biting through the thin canvas walls of her tent, and as she rose from her cot, the low-pitched whistle of the wind teased the edges of her hearing. She pressed a hand to the pendant resting against her sternum, feeling the gentle thrum of warmth that never entirely left her and taking solace in its presence.
It was early even for her, but she needed the head start.
Mornings were the best time to slip into the compound with the rest of the staff without drawing attention. Early mornings were also the best time to check on the prisoner in cell twelve.
After pulling on the shapeless black dress and headscarf that was part of her disguise, she headed out.
Despite the cold, the air was crisp and fresh, and she let herself enjoy it for a moment before rushing to the communal bathroom. Her reflection in the dingy mirror over the sink startled her, not because of the disguise she wore but because of the haunted look in her eyes.
It was difficult to witness the extent of the cruelty inflicted on that still unnamed prisoner and then breathe a sigh of relief after the near-miraculous healing. The woman's torment would be repeated tomorrow, and the next day, her sadistic abuser relishing in her ability to erase the physical signs of his abuses so he could do it all over again.
There were other missions. Other prisoners. Twelve wasn't the only woman in there, and she wasn't the only one getting beaten, but she was getting the brunt of the sadistic efforts, and Kyra was drawn to her as though by a magnetic pull.
Twelve reminded her so strongly of herself that she felt compelled to look out for her even if there wasn't much she could do until the woman was moved to another facility.
Her people wanted to know why she would risk her life to do no more than watch the woman suffer abuse from afar. They wanted to know why she insisted the fate of a single prisoner mattered more than the broader war they were fighting.
How could she explain that she was selfishly trying to save herself?
How could anyone truly grasp the all-consuming need that drove her toward that cell?
She would do it again today, trek on foot into the low valley housing the compound and spend her shift, or rather Parisa's, with her head bowed, arms loaded with cleaning supplies, careful to avoid direct eye contact.
The risk was immense, and the frustration of doing nothing to rescue the woman was driving her half mad, but she didn't want to risk anyone else, and it was crucial to find out the exact time they would move the woman so her people could ambush the transport and rescue Twelve.
In the meantime, she was gleaning more intelligence about the schedules, the watch rotations, and the purpose of the enhanced soldiers. It seemed like a waste to station them in this area. The Kurdish rebellion had been going on forever, and she found it hard to believe that the regime planned a severe crackdown on them and had brought these enhanced humans for that purpose. As superior as they were to normal people, there weren't enough of them to make much of a difference.
She met Soran at the edge of the camp, as he had requested. He was leaning against a battered truck, arms folded over his chest, expression somewhere between anger and resignation.
"Why are you going in again?" he asked, dispensing with any preamble. "You realize that we need to plan the next supply run?"
Kyra nodded. "You can be in charge of that, with Hamid and Zara doing the actual runs."
Soran's mouth tightened. "Zara is mad that you're neglecting your job. She says that you are losing your mind." He let out a heavy breath. "I'm not trying to undermine you or question your judgment. But you're risking yourself needlessly. Parisa can do what you're doing in there, watching and listening and gathering information, but no one can take your place here."
She shoved her hands into the folds of her dress, resisting the urge to argue. "Everyone is replaceable, Soran, and you are a very capable man. It's time that you took command."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why? Are you planning to leave us?"
"Of course not, but contrary to what you and the others think, I'm not indestructible, and one day, I might encounter a bullet I can't dodge. I want to have the peace of mind of knowing that this place will not fall apart and that you can continue our work. You need to start taking on more responsibilities."
"What if I fall too?"
She put her hand on his shoulder. "When I fall, you should start training your replacement. That's how it works, and that's what good leaders do. We plan ahead."
He shook his head. "Why now, though? The same was true yesterday, and the week before, yet you didn't insist then on leaving me in charge. So don't tell me stories, Kyra. For some reason, you are obsessed with that new prisoner. I need to know why."
"She's like me," Kyra finally admitted in a hushed voice. "She heals faster than normal. I've seen her bruises vanish. They are doing to her what they did to me, and as horrible as it is, we need her. Imagine having two of me. The things we would be able to do. That's why I must find out exactly when she gets moved, and I don't trust anyone else to do that." She adjusted the headscarf. "I also need to find out what they did to me, and that place has the answers."
Soran pushed off from the side of the truck. "Then we should storm that place and take her now."
"We can't." Kyra shook her head. "I can't fight all those enhanced soldiers alone, and the rest of you will have your hands full with the regular guards. We need to be patient and wait until they transport her out. That's our only chance, and I won't blow it by going in too soon."
He looked like he wanted to rail at her but settled for a reluctant nod. "Fine. I guess I need to thank you for the promotion."
Kyra smiled. "No need to thank me. You've earned it, and you're ready."