Page 9 of Dark Rebel's Reckoning

He carried her to the seat, settled her in front of the tray, and then took the seat beside her.

Kyra smiled at Fenella between bites of pasta, her eyes warm. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."

Fenella echoed the sentiment, but then her brow furrowed. "Max told me that you were the one who told him to get me. How did you know I was there? I didn't know who the other prisoners were."

"That's a long story." Kyra swirled more creamy pasta on her fork. "And right now, I'm too hungry to tell it."

"So am I." Fenella lowered her gaze to the tray. "This smells divine."

"Here, let me help you." Max removed the foil, letting the steam escape before unwrapping the utensils and handing Fenella a fork. "Dig in."

5

KYRA

Kyra shifted in her seat, the taste of warm pasta lingering on her tongue as she savored each bite. Even the disposable fork felt luxurious in her hand compared to the cold metal utensils she vaguely remembered from the prison.

So much of her imprisonment seemed like a bad dream, a nightmare, and in a way, she was grateful for not remembering much of it. Hopefully, those memories would remain locked away along with the memories of what had been done to her in the asylum.

She glanced across at Fenella, who seemed more vibrant now that she'd eaten. The woman was still gaunt and looked tense, but her eyes no longer looked dead, and there was a new spark in her gaze—a cautious curiosity.

Was that how she looked to others as well?

Kyra hadn't spent as long in captivity as Twelve—Fenella was her name, she reminded herself—so she should look a little better, but she was still apprehensive of what she would see in the mirror once she had a chance.

Speaking of which, she probably should visit the restroom, but she didn't trust her legs to carry her there. Besides, she was afraid to leave the comfortable seat and the soft blanket draped over her, mostly because she didn't fully trust that the nightmare was truly over.

What if all of this was an induced hallucination?

What if she dispelled the illusions and discovered that she was still in that prison cell?

Glancing around, Kyra focused on details that she couldn't have imagined to reassure herself that she was indeed free and that this was real.

The cabin wasn't big, but it was luxurious, like something belonging to a billionaire or the president of a multinational conglomerate.

Since Kyra couldn't remember ever flying on a plane, she had no point of reference, but she'd seen movies and commercials, so she knew what a regular cabin looked like as opposed to the interior of a private executive jet, and this was definitely the latter and not the former.

Large plush seats sat in pairs on either side of a narrow aisle, and overhead, discreet lighting lent the space a cozy warmth. Even the carpeting underfoot felt impossibly soft.

Fenella smiled tentatively at her. "Hi," she said. "Have we ever met before?"

"I don't think so."

The woman chewed on her lower lip. "How did you know I was in cell number twelve?"

"As I said, it's a long story, and I'm sure what Jasmine is about to tell us is much more interesting than that."

She was almost sure now that she could trust Jasmine and could tell her about her rebel friends, but after a lifetime of being cautious, she preferred not to rush. Satisfying Fenella's curiosity was not a priority.

She turned to look at her daughter—the daughter she still could hardly believe she had—and felt a mix of awe and remorse. That first moment of recognition in the helicopter had been overshadowed by her drugged haze, and yet the memory still tugged at her heart. She'd looked at Jasmine and seen her own eyes, her own features, and had discovered that she was a mother.

Someone had robbed her of motherhood because she was absolutely certain that she would never have left her child voluntarily.

The thought brought about a spike of fury, but Kyra pushed it down to be dealt with later. Right now she wanted to enjoy the company of the daughter she'd just discovered and learn from her as much as she could about her past.

The man who volunteered to bring her meal returned with a small stack of clothing in his hands and stopped by Jasmine's seat, looking unsure. "That's all I could find, and that's not enough for six ladies."

"We'll look at it later. You can put it over there for now." Jasmine motioned at a seat across the aisle. "I want to introduce you properly to my mother." She smiled. "This is Ell-rom, my mate."

---