Page 33

FENELLA

T he afternoon sun felt too bright as they emerged from the keep's underground parking structure, as if the world above was trying to pretend the darkness below didn't exist. Fenella squinted against the glare, her hand unconsciously going to the brooch at her chest. It had a calming effect on her, helping her realize that a chance encounter with some Revolutionary Guard thug was nothing for her to worry about.

She'd dealt with worse.

Much worse.

But the sisters looked shaken, their earlier excitement about the shopping trip completely evaporated.

Soraya's face had aged ten years in the past hour, deep lines bracketing her mouth.

Rana kept glancing over her shoulder as if expecting pursuit, and Parisa hadn't spoken since they'd left the keep.

Yasmin just looked sad, but then that was what she usually looked like.

Poor woman.

"How about we go now to one of the wholesale places I wanted to take you to originally?" Jackson looked at them through the rearview mirror. "Or we can check out that specialty foods market in Koreatown. They have amazing kimchi, and the chance of meeting any Iranians there is zero."

"No." Soraya's voice cut through his enthusiasm like a blade. "No more shopping. I need to go home. I need some relaxing tea, but first, I need to hold my daughters tightly to stop shaking."

The raw emotion in her voice made Fenella's chest tight. She understood the need to retreat to safety, to surround herself with the familiar after danger had brushed too close. But she also knew that giving in to that fear, letting it drive her back into hiding, was not the answer.

"We should eat something first," she suggested. "It's been hours since any of us has eaten anything, and that's part of what is making us nervous."

"I'm not hungry," Parisa said quietly. "I just want to go home. Please."

The fear in her voice was palpable, and Fenella felt a flash of anger—not at Parisa, but at the men who'd made her afraid, who'd stolen her sense of safety in her adopted country. One chance encounter in a massive city, and they were all ready to barricade themselves back in the village.

"Don't let them win," Fenella said, turning in her seat to look at the sisters. "One random meeting with some asshole who's now held in the keep and being interrogated, and you are going to run scared? That's exactly what they want. They want you to be afraid, to hide, to be small."

"Easy for you to say," Rana snapped. "You don't know what it's like."

"I know about running," Fenella said. "I know about being afraid, about looking over your shoulder, about seeing threats in every shadow. I did it for fifty years. And you know what? The fear doesn't go away just because you hide. It gets worse."

Silence filled the van, heavy and uncomfortable.

Then Jackson cleared his throat. "I know the perfect place for lunch.

It's a little café where I started my career in baked goods, and it is now run by another clan member.

Ruth took over when I left." He glanced at them in the rearview mirror.

"The sandwiches are incredible, the coffee is perfection, and there is absolutely no chance of meeting any Revolutionary Guard in there.

What's more, it's only fifteen minutes away, while it's at least an hour to the village. "

Fenella's mouth watered at the mention of sandwiches. "That's perfect. We eat, we regroup, we let the adrenaline settle. Then we go home."

Soraya sighed, the sound deep and weary. "Fine. But after we eat, we go home. No more adventures today."

"Deal," Fenella agreed, pulling out her phone. "I just need to call Din and let him know that we are not heading straight home. He's probably wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing."

It occurred to her then that all of them had been referring to the village as home, and it had felt so right that she hadn't even noticed.

She hit his number, and he answered before the first ring finished.

"Fenella? Are you on your way back?"

The worry in his voice made her heart sing and ache simultaneously. "We're making a quick stop for sandwiches and coffee. Jackson knows a safe place that is run by a clan member."

"I wish you would come straight home." The worry shifted to something closer to frustration.

"I'm hungry, Din. It's been a long, stressful day, and we need food. I'll bring you a sandwich."

"I don't want a sandwich. I want you here, safe, where I can—" He cut himself off, and she could practically see him running his hand through his hair in frustration.

"That's sweet, Din. Really. But we can't live our lives in fear and hide in our little hidey-holes."

"This isn't about hiding. It's about being sensible. You were just involved in a security incident that required Guardian intervention."

Fenella rolled her eyes. "You make it sound like an international incident.

It was just a chance encounter with someone from Soraya's past. Don't make it into such a big deal.

" She glanced at the sisters, who were pretending not to listen to her conversation.

"You can't be with me twenty-four-seven, Din.

Life is full of hazards, and you can't protect me at all times.

It's impractical and it would be suffocating. "

The silence on the other end stretched so long that she wondered if the call had dropped.

"Din? Are you there?"

"I'm here." His voice was quiet, controlled. "I understand that you feel that way, but I would be ecstatic to be with you every minute of every day. Not to guard you, or restrict you in any way, but just to be with you. Obviously, it's not the same for you, which is, well… not ideal."

He was hurt.

"Din, I didn't mean?—"

"I know." He sighed. "You need your space. You're still figuring out how to be in a relationship after so long alone. And I am too. It's as new to me as it is to you. But when something like this happens, when you're in danger and I'm not there... it kills me."

Fenella closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to the brooch. She could feel the echo of his emotions in it—not through any psychometric gift, just through knowing him.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm not used to having someone worry about me."

"Get used to me worrying about you because you matter to me," he said.

"I'm beginning to understand that." She opened her eyes, watching the city scroll past outside the windows. "We'll be back in less than two hours, and I'll bring you a tasty sandwich."

"I don't care about the sandwich."

"I know. But I'm bringing you one anyway. Because that's what people do when they—when they care about each other, they bring food."

She'd almost said it. Almost said the words he longed to hear. But not over the phone, not in a van full of people, not when her nerves were still jangling from the afternoon's events.

"Be safe," he said finally.

"Always am," she replied, which was true and false at the same time.

She'd tried to be safe, to take care of herself, but it hadn't always worked.

"Bye, Din."

After she ended the call, Kyra touched her shoulder. "He loves you."

"I know," Fenella said. "That's what makes it so hard."

"Love is supposed to be hard?" Yasmin asked, a bitter edge to her voice. "I thought it was supposed to make everything better."

"Love makes everything more," Fenella said, thinking it through as she spoke. "More wonderful, more terrible, more complicated. When you love someone, you give them the power to destroy you and trust them not to use it."

"That's scary," Parisa said. "And also overly dramatic. Sometimes love can be quiet and sensible."

Fenella chuckled. "I guess everyone has their own definition of love."