Dark Rebel's Mystery by I. T. Lucas

Author:I. T. Lucas [Lucas, I. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Evening Star Press, LLC.
Published: 2025-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

30

KYRA

In the supply room of the eastern building, Kyra loaded a cleaning trolley with brooms, rags, and disinfectants. The cramped space reeked of mold. It was no different than the countless other nooks and crannies she'd hidden in over the years on missions just like this one—blending into the walls under the cover of humility and listening for tidbits of information to piece together later.

Peeking out into the wide corridor, she verified that the coast was clear and pushed the cart out. Not that anyone would have raised a brow at a maid exiting a supply closet, but she didn't want to bump into anyone who might want to take a better look at her.

Act normal and keep your head down was a mantra that ran on repeat in her head.

A couple of ordinary guards came from around the corner, the low timbre of their small talk unthreatening, and yet her heart pounded, and she gripped the handle of the trolley with a white-knuckled force.

Relax.

To them, she was nothing—just another woman in a shapeless garment pushing a squeaking cart with her eyes lowered in humble compliance.

Once the guards' voices faded, she took a deep breath and grimaced at the unpleasant scent. This building smelled even worse than the rest of the compound. Maybe it was an offensive mix of chemical disinfectants, the rot of neglect, or both. Or maybe she was registering the faint whiff of the human emotions permeating this space.

Fear, pain, despair, and their counterparts—hatred, greed, and cruelty.

The worst part was that the smell was familiar, and it evoked a surge of panic that Kyra couldn't afford to let distract her. She needed details about the prisoners behind the steel doors and perhaps some clues about what had been done to her.

Shuffling down the winding corridors, she encountered the same neglect she had seen in the other building. Nothing special had been done to fix the place ahead of the new commander's arrival. The paint on the walls was peeling away in scabs of green and yellow, revealing the dull cement underneath, and the floors, worn by decades of heavy boot traffic, bore scuff marks that no amount of scrubbing could fully erase. Many of the overhead fluorescent lights either didn't function or flickered as if they were in their last death throes, casting some areas in brightness and others in shadowy gloom. The effect was disorienting—like her disjointed memories—a few patches of clarity surrounded by stretches of dark unknown.

Two guards stood at the bottom of the concrete stairwell that led to the eastern wing's upper floors.

Kyra kept her gaze on her cart, and the guards barely glanced at her. She passed them without incident and climbed up, carrying her cart up the stairs and pretending it was a considerable effort.

On the third floor, a hush blanketed the corridor. Metal doors punctuated the walls, each with a small barred window near the top.

She turned a corner and nearly collided with a man whose uniform bore a colonel's insignia.

"Watch where you're going," he snapped, stepping aside.

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