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KYRA

T he marketplace pulsed with life despite the early hour, with vendors arranging their wares while early customers examined the fresh produce with critical eyes and nimble fingers. Kyra waddled through the narrow aisles, the fat suit making her sweat even though it was still morning and the night's chill had not dispersed fully yet.

"The fruit stand at the northeast corner," Max said in her earpiece, his voice eliciting a different kind of warmth.

They had spent the night in each other's arms again, too exhausted to do anything more than a chaste goodnight kiss. They'd slept less than three hours when Yamanu knocked on their door announcing that Parisa had left Soraya's house and had returned to her apartment early this morning with her four guards. After her sons had gone to school accompanied by three of the guards, she left with the remaining guard, and they took a taxi to the market.

It was a great opportunity to corner her and have a talk with her rather than just showing up at her place while all four guards and her boys were there. Besides, the earlier, the better.

It had been a scramble to don the disguise and rush to the van. Thank God for Nadim, who'd made them coffee to go and a container with several pieces of Fatima's delicious baklava.

Kyra licked her lips and eyed a nearby stall that was selling it. The problem was that she didn't have any money with her. In her rush to leave the safe house, she hadn't thought to take a purse or stuff a few rials in her pocket. The lack of a purse was also a tactical mistake, as every woman in the market carried one regardless of her level of bodily concealment.

It made sense, as this was the only way the abaya- and hijab- or niqab-covered crowd could express some individuality and maybe even show off a little with a pricy handbag.

She spotted Parisa standing at a fruit stall, recognizing her face from the photographs Nadim's team had supplied. Kyra felt an unexpected pang of familiarity with the way she held up the fruit, turning it with just her fingertips and tilting her head to inspect it. That was exactly how Kyra shopped.

The lone guard stood several paces away, his attention split between Parisa and the surrounding crowd, hand resting casually near his concealed weapon. He was clearly uneasy and vigilant with his task.

After the murder of Yasmin's guards and husband and the kidnapping of the family, the guards of the remaining sisters were on high alert.

Nevertheless, he wouldn't be concerned with a woman and stupidly wouldn't even consider that an abaya and niqab could hide a male assassin with ease.

Kyra moved closer, pretending to examine apricots at the neighboring stand. She timed her approach carefully, waiting until Parisa had moved slightly away from the guard before sliding into position beside her sister at the pomegranate display.

"These are much better than the ones at Masoud's stand," Kyra commented, keeping her voice pitched for Parisa's ears alone. "His are always overripe."

Parisa turned, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the traditionally dressed stranger. Caution flickered across her features, but good manners prevailed.

"I wouldn't know," she replied politely. "I usually shop at the Noori district."

"Of course," Kyra nodded, shifting her substantial bulk slightly to position herself between Parisa and the guard's line of sight. "This season's crop is excellent. Almost as good as the ones we had when I was a child in Shiraz."

Parisa's brow creased momentarily at the mention of her childhood home. Kyra reached into her pocket, extracted the folded note, and slid it into Parisa's hand.

"Please read this," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the market's bustle. "Don't let your guard see it. It's from your niece."

Parisa stiffened, her other hand freezing over the pomegranate she'd been holding. "Who are you?" she whispered, not looking at Kyra but maintaining the pretense of examining fruit.

"I'm here to help," Kyra replied. "Your nieces are safe, but you, your sons, and your other sisters are in danger."

Parisa's eyes darted toward her guard, who was watching her intently. "I can't read it now. He's watching me."

"I'll block you from his view. I need the note back, or I would have told you to meet me at the women's bathroom and read it there." Kyra lifted two pomegranates and held them up to the sun, pretending to examine them in the light while effectively creating a screen with her voluminous clothing to hide her sister.

Behind her, she heard Parisa gasp and then exhale. "I read it. What now?"

Kyra put the pomegranates back down and turned to her sister. "Hand me the note and then meet me at the women's bathroom at the east entrance. I'll go ahead, and you should head there in ten minutes. Your guard can't follow you inside. "

After Parisa slid the note into her hand, Kyra walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

She circled around, keeping Parisa in her peripheral vision while never looking directly at her. The fat suit made stealth challenging, but it also made her unremarkable—just another matron doing her morning shopping. The only things giving her away were her lack of purse and shopping bags.

"Do any of you have money?" she said quietly in her comm. "I need to buy something not to look suspicious."

"I do," Yamanu said. "I'm behind the scarf stand. The humans can't see me because I'm shrouding myself."

When Kyra saw Yamanu standing where he'd told her he would be, his hand extended with a wad of bills, she stifled a chuckle. "People will think that I'm plucking money out of thin air. Imagine the rumors it would spark."

She took the money from Yamanu's hand, quickly put it in her pocket, and proceeded to buy a colorful head covering, which she asked the vendor to put in a bag for her.

Feeling less conspicuous, Kyra headed toward the bathroom but didn't go in. Instead, she pretended to examine a display of copper pots.

"Parisa is on her way," Max reported in her ear. "The guard is with her."

Naturally.

Kyra considered staying outside the bathroom and waiting until Parisa got in before following, but she was afraid the guard would recognize her from the fruit stand. She could pull out the head covering she'd bought and change her appearance a little, but there was no good place to do that without being noticed, and getting under Yamanu's shroud meant going back to where he was keeping watch.

"Go inside," Yamanu said in her earpiece. "They are almost there."

Kyra ducked into the bathroom. The place was packed with women waiting in line for the four available stalls, and there was no way she could talk with Parisa in there.

"Can you do something to give us privacy?" she asked quietly while pretending to adjust her clothing under the abaya. "It's packed in here."

Yamanu didn't answer, but the women around her started to scrunch their noses and twist their mouths, and some started complaining about the intolerable stench.

The place didn't smell great, but it wasn't particularly stinky either, or at least no more than it had been when she'd entered.

"Is the stench your doing?" Kyra asked quietly.

"I hope you can't smell it," came Yamanu's bemused answer. "Only the humans are supposed to be affected by my olfactory illusion."

"Oh, they definitely are."

One by one, the women started filing out of the bathroom until only the most desperate remained, holding their noses with their fingers and shifting from foot to foot as they waited for a stall to become available.

When Parisa finally entered, the bathroom was practically empty, but the illusionary stench remained, and Parisa's face twisted.

"Can we do this somewhere else?"

Kyra shook her head. "Just don't breathe through your nose. The smell is harmless. Its purpose is to chase the other women away."

One day, they would talk about this encounter and have a good laugh, but for now, Kyra had to keep the lies coming.

"Her guard is staying in position by the entrance," Max said in her earpiece. "You're good, but don't take too long."

"The note was from Arezoo." Parisa's voice was tight with barely contained emotion, but she was trying to appear fierce, which Kyra appreciated. "Where is she?"

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 that Yasmin 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 loan and 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.

"Yes. I'm trying to get a stubborn stain out of my sleeve. That fruit stand was filthy!"

"Well, hurry up. Women are giving me dirty looks for standing out here."

"Two more minutes! It's almost out!"

Parisa's lips quirked up in a smile. "Amir is a good guy. Not all of them in the Revolutionary Guard are evil, you know."

Kyra nodded. "Of course not. People are rarely black and white. Most are shades of gray." She tilted her head. "What color is Fareed? "

Parisa's lips twisted in distaste. "I owe him a lot for helping me after my husband got killed, so I don't want to speak badly of him, but he's not a good husband to Soraya or a good father to the girls. There are worse men, but that doesn't make him good."

"Do you think Soraya will agree to go without him?" Kyra asked.

"That depends on what will await her on the other side. Where will you take her?"

Kyra smiled. "To her daughters." She leaned closer. "They are in America, and all of their expenses are paid. They lack for nothing. I promise you that you will receive no less. You will all be set for life, and it will be a very good life."

Something in her tone must have convinced Parisa, or maybe it was the hope of a better life, because she nodded. "Let's say I believe you. How are we going to get past the guards?"

"We'll get you out," Kyra said. "Talk to Rana and tell her to come stay with Soraya as well. It has to happen tonight, though. We are not concerned with the guards you have now, but if the others get to you, things might get ugly."

Hopefully, Fareed wasn't home and wouldn't mind two of his wife's sisters staying with her.

"Do we need passports?" Parisa asked. "I don't have a passport, and neither do my boys. We've never left Iran."

"We'll take care of everything. Take just what you can't part with. Clothing and everything else will be supplied, so don't bother packing that. Meaningful jewelry, birth certificates, any family keepsakes you can't bear to leave behind, those are the kind of things you should take with you."

Parisa closed her eyes for a moment and then let out a breath. "What if this is some elaborate trap? How do I know I can trust you?"

Kyra met her sister's eyes through the narrow slit in her niqab. "Soraya's and Rana's daughters were taken, and then the same people attacked Yasmin's home and killed her husband and the guards who were trying to protect her. No one met them ahead of time and tried to convince them to leave. They were taken by force. If you don't get away, there is a very high chance that your sons will face the same fate that nearly befell your nieces. These people don't take no for an answer, Parisa, they wouldn't be here talking to you."

A long moment passed as Parisa made her decision. Finally, she nodded. "Tonight, then?"

"Yes."

"Can you spare the guards?" her sister asked. "I don't want their deaths on my conscience.

Since they were probably all human, Yamanu could thrall them to stand down, but they would face harsh punishments for failing.

"We will spare them. We have a special method of disabling guards without harming them."

"I hope you're telling the truth about my nieces."

"I am," Kyra assured her. "They miss you. Especially Arezoo—she talks about your cooking all the time."

A ghost of a smile crossed Parisa's face. "That child would eat nothing but my saffron rice pudding if allowed." The small moment of normalcy seemed to strengthen her resolve. "Very well. We will be ready."