Page 37 of Saving Noor

His hand, so small, gripped hers like a drowning man clutching a life raft. The chaos of the market pulsed around them—shouting vendors, honking motorbikes, the smell of spices mingling with sewage. Faisal’s men. Always Faisal’s men.

“Keep your head down,” she whispered, her throat dry, the words scraping. “Do not look at them.”

The dust coated her tongue, the fear a bitter taste. He was so small, so innocent, his eyes wide with a terror that mirrored her own. She pushed a crumpled wad of dinars into his palm, closing his fingers around it, one by one, like sealing a fate.

“You are going to play the game now. The hiding game. Just like we practiced.”

“No,” he pleaded, tears pooling, reflecting the flickering market lamps. “Not without you.”

Her heart tore, a physical ripping. “Samir!” Her voice was a hiss, fierce, desperate. “You must. You are small. You are fast. You will go under the tables. You will be a mouse. You will not stop until you see the water. Do you understand?”

Heavy boots pounded pavement. A vendor’s scream, then the sickening thud of a blow. They were seconds away. She kissed his forehead, hard and desperate, breathing in his scent—sweat and soap and baby dust—one last time. “I love you. Now go.”

She pushed him, a tiny scrap of her soul, towards the gap beneath the stalls, heard his small scramble into the darkness. She remembered the red and gold of the carpets muffling his cries, creating a tiny, suffocating world. Then, she ran. She had to. For him.

Noor gasped, a choked sound. Her fingers, still clutching nothing, flexed reflexively, seeking the phantom weight of Samir’s hand. He had gone. He had run. He had lived. But she had been left behind.

Now, her two other children were out there, in that terrible dark. So small and helpless.

Shadow’s voice, a steady, low current on the comms near her, pulled her back. He was giving instructions to one of the pilots, his face impassive. Sammy was beside him, his eyes scanning the monitors, lips moving silently, processing every data stream. He was a man now, this boy she had last seen as a terrified child, but she saw the fierce tension in his shoulders, the unblinking intensity of his gaze. He was waiting for his sisters. Her daughters.

A flicker of a smile, fleeting and fragile, crossed her face as one of the ground crew laughed, a bright, clear sound that seemed impossibly out of place.

Yasmin, all fire and curiosity, giggled, tugging at Amina’s curls. Amina, gentle and watchful, balanced her sister’s boundless energy. They were her sunshine, her rebellion, growing in secret behind Faisal’s stolen books. She read to them from the dusty shelves, tales of bravery and escape, whispering English words into their ears like forbidden spells.

“Freedom,” she taught them. “Hope.”

Amina’s tiny hand reached for hers, her fingers soft, trusting. Yasmin would climb onto her lap, her weight a comforting anchor. Their innocent laughter echoed in the library, a sound Faisal’s walls could not contain. They were so small, so precious, so completely unaware of the monstrous world that circled them.

Noor squeezed her eyes shut, a tear escaping to trail a hot path down her temple. Her fault. Her desperate attempt to save Samir had left her trapped, and in that trap, these two innocent lives had blossomed, only to be caught in the same brutal web. The smell of the sweet sedative, imagined or real, clung to the air around her, a sick echo of Faisal’s control.

A jolt ran through her, sharper than any movement from the packing. A memory, cold and hard as the stone beneath the hangar floor.

The world tilted. Her head snapped back against the cold stone, the air leaving her lungs in a choked gasp. Faisal’s face, a mask of cold fury, hovered above her. His words, Arabic, sharp as broken glass, cut through her ears. “You will obey. You are mine.” The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth. A heavy boot connected with her stomach, then again. She curled, a useless heap, focused only on not screaming, on not showing him the triumph he craved. The cold, metallic tang of fear, a constant companion.

Noor’s body tensed, her breath catching in her throat, even as the pain medication worked its dulling magic. The metallic taste still lingered, ghosting like phantom pain in her belly. Her hand, injured and useless, pressed against the hollow where life had once stirred, a silent testament to the child she had lost in that brutal moment.

Mine. They were hers. All three. And the one who never was. She had vowed it then, and she vowed it now, with every fiber of her being.

The comms near her ear crackled again, Link’s voice, rough with the desert wind. “Warden, this is Link. We have the packages. Repeat, we have the packages. Get everyone on those birds. Shadow, Sammy have the pilots help with packing up the command post.”

Noor felt Sammy’s eyes on her then, a brief, worried glance before he turned back to the monitors. She imagined his eager, anxious face, hundreds of miles away, waiting.

And then, Link’s voice, softer now, aimed not at the team, but at the boy. “They’re okay, son. Just sleeping. We’re bringing them home.”

The relief flooded Noor, stealing her breath.

A quiet gasp escaped, followed by a raw sob she barely stifled.

My girls. My children.

After so long, after so much…

She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching Link’s steady voice, the distant roar of helicopters, the certain hope that her daughters, her sunshines, were coming home.

24 - LINK

“Link, go! Go! Go!” Swede’s voice, usually calm, was now sharp with alarm, cutting through the general chatter. “Contact! Multiple vehicles, fast movers, converging on your position. Looks like Faisal’s personal guard. They’ve mounted rocket launchers on those jeeps, Link. They’re mobilizing, and they know you have them!”