The sun rose slowly over Istanbul, casting a warm, golden hue that crept up the apartment walls like spilled tea. Imani stood in the kitchen, barefoot on the cool tiled floor, clutching a steaming mug of black coffee in both hands. Her long, cotton robe—light blue with small embroidery at the hem—trailed just above the ground, and her dark brown scarf hung loosely over her shoulders, slightly wrinkled from sleep.
She hadn't spoken much since reading the letter. The masjid drawing haunted her thoughts. She knew where it pointed: the courtyard by the Grand Masjid Al-Quds, the same one she had visited days ago with Omar. Her heart twisted at the memory.
Zara shuffled into the kitchen, wearing a thick maroon hoodie over her silk pyjamas. The hoodie was two sizes too big, with the words "Do No Harm But Take No Mess" boldly embroidered across the front. Her hair was wrapped under a white turban-style scarf, and her eyes were puffy, rimmed with smudged mascara from last night's unwashed face.
She reached into the cupboard for a cereal box and turned to Imani. "You're quiet. Too quiet. That letter?"
Imani nodded.
Zara poured some cornflakes into a bowl, added a splash of almond milk, and leaned against the counter. "Weird that someone left a note with no trace."
"They knew I'd understand the drawing," Imani murmured, sipping her coffee slowly. "And they knew where to reach me without triggering Kora's system. That's calculated."
Zara stirred her cereal absentmindedly. "You think it was Idris?"
Imani hesitated, not wanting to mentionthe Imam due to the fear of being called Paranoid. "He was mentioned in the files. It could be. Or someone using his name. Either way, I have to go."
Zara's jaw tightened. "Then you're not going alone."
"The note said—"
"Screw the note. I'm not letting you walk into a possible trap with only your trauma as backup."
Imani sighed but didn't argue. They both knew there was no real safety, only shifting threats.
---
By noon, they were dressed and ready. Imani chose a long, burnt-orange tunic over black palazzo pants, paired with a charcoal-gray hijab knotted effortlessly under her chin. She kept her makeup minimal—a bit of brow gel, mascara, and tinted lip balm—enough to look presentable without drawing attention. Her small black crossbody bag held a portable charger, a tiny pepper spray, and a photo of her father—creased from being folded too many times.
Zara, on the other hand, wore a tailored olive-green trench coat over a white turtleneck and slim-fit beige trousers. Her scarf was ivory silk, tied in a classic turban style. She had layered small gold hoops in her ears and wore white sneakers with specks of navy blue. Her eyeliner was sharp enough to slice bread.
They exited the apartment together, the tension between them both unspoken and heavy. The tram ride to the masjid was quiet. Imani looked out the window, watching the blur of old buildings, café umbrellas, and narrow alleyways. A boy with a green balloon waved at her from the platform. She waved back, her lips twitching into a faint smile.
---
The masjid courtyard was nearly empty when they arrived. It was the golden hour—warm light filtered through the lattice screens and danced on the polished stone floors. A flock of pigeons pecked at scattered crumbs near the steps.
Imani scanned the area.
"Do you see anyone?" Zara asked, pulling her coat tighter.
"Not yet. Let's wait by the fountain."
The central fountain gurgled softly, the water catching shards of light as it flowed in rhythmic circles. Imani sat on the edge, her fingers trailing through the cool water.
And then, she felt it. A presence.
Someone was watching.
She turned.
He stood beneath the arch, shrouded by the shadow of the stone columns. Dressed in a sand-colored coat and dark jeans, he looked older, leaner. His hair, once thick and tousled, was now closely cropped. His beard was fuller. But the eyes were the same.
Idris.
She should have known.
Imani stood slowly.
Zara blinked. "Is that..."
"Yeah," Imani whispered.
He walked towards them, hands visible, posture calm.
"You came," he said. His voice was deeper. Still smooth. Still dangerous.
"You left," she replied, arms folded.
He looked at her for a long time. Then to Zara. "We should talk."
"Here," Imani said firmly.
He nodded and sat opposite them, the fountain gurgling between their tension.
"I didn't die. But I came close."
"You faked it," Imani replied, her voice sharper now. "You let me mourn."
"I had no choice. Kora wanted me out. I found out things they didn't want shared. The program your father tried to shut down... Layla tried too. She was our inside."
Zara gasped. "Your mother?"
Imani's heart dropped.
Idris nodded. "She was the last to speak to your dad before he vanished."
"So why didn't she tell me?" Imani asked, eyes burning.
"Because she thought if you stayed out of it, they wouldn't come after you. But they already are. I came to warn you."
"And the note?"
"I didn't send it."
Imani froze.
"Then who..."
Idris looked around nervously. "You need to leave Istanbul. Now. They're cleaning house. Anyone tied to the Kora resistance is a target. Even me."
A sudden bang echoed from the alley behind the masjid.
Pigeons flew wildly into the sky.
Zara turned sharply. "What was that?"
"We need to go," Idris said, standing. "Now."
---
They rushed out the back exit of the masjid, ducking behind market stalls and weaving through alleys. Imani's scarf slipped loose, and she tugged it back on while panting. Zara followed closely, clutching her phone tightly.
Idris led them to a side street and knocked on a metal door twice. It opened to reveal a woman in her sixties with thick glasses and hair the color of snow.
"Inside. Quick."
They entered a small, dim room that smelled like tobacco and mint. Maps lined the walls, and a faded Kora Foundation logo had been scratched out in red ink.
The woman locked the door.
"So you're the girl with the USB," she said, looking Imani dead in the eye. "You're late."
Imani stepped forward. "Who are you?"
"Someone who used to call your father 'Captain.'"
Idris rested his hand on Imani's shoulder. "This is Mariam. She was your father's first recruit."
Mariam sighed. "And if you don't want to end up like his second, you'll start talking fast. We don't have time."
Imani blinked.
"What happened to the second?"
Mariam's lips tightened.
"Your mother sent him to his death."
To be continued...