Chapter 26: Malick and Ali’s Paths Cross Again

Ali leaned against the cold marble wall, his breath uneven. The dimly lit corridor of the sheikh's palatial residence felt more suffocating than ever. His heart raced as the weight of the gardener's words sank in.

"They know about the plan," the gardener had whispered, his face pale with fear.

Ali clenched his fists, his mind racing through possibilities. Who could have betrayed them? They had been careful—planning every step, whispering only when they were sure no one could hear. Yet, somehow, the sheikh's guards knew.

The gardener's words echoed as Ali made his way back to his quarters. A gnawing unease settled in his chest. Every shadow seemed more sinister, every servant's glance laced with suspicion.

He pushed open the door to his small room and froze. A figure sat in the corner, cloaked in shadow. The faint light from the hallway revealed a face Ali hadn't seen in months—Malick.

Ali's breath caught in his throat. The boy he once called his brother looked nothing like the friend he remembered. Malick's lean frame had filled out, his posture exuding a confidence that bordered on arrogance. The playful sparkle in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, detached glare.

"Malick?" Ali whispered, stepping closer.

Malick tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Ali," he said, his voice deeper, carrying an unfamiliar edge. "Long time."

Ali's pulse quickened as he stood frozen in the doorway. Malick rose from the chair with a deliberate slowness, his presence filling the small room like a storm cloud. His clothes—tailored and pristine—spoke of wealth and power. But his eyes… his eyes betrayed the darkness that had taken root within him.

"What are you doing here?" Ali finally managed, his voice hoarse.

Malick chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "That's the question, isn't it? What am I doing here, in this grand palace, wearing these fine clothes? While you… well, you're still cleaning up after the rich, aren't you?"

The words stung more than Ali cared to admit. "You've changed," he said, narrowing his eyes. "What happened to you?"

Malick's smirk widened. "Life happened, Ali. While you were dreaming of freedom, I realized something—freedom isn't given. It's taken."

Ali stepped closer, his fists clenched. "So, what? You sold your soul for a taste of power? For money? That's not freedom, Malick. That's just another kind of cage."

Malick's expression darkened. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Don't lecture me," he hissed. "You have no idea what I've been through. What I've had to do to survive. You think you're better than me because you cling to your precious morals? Look around you, Ali. Morals don't matter here. Survival does."

Ali's gaze didn't waver. "This isn't you, Malick. The Malick I knew would never—"

"The Malick you knew is dead," Malick interrupted, his voice cold. "And maybe it's time you let go of him."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick and suffocating. Then Malick sighed, running a hand through his neatly cropped hair. "Look, I didn't come here to argue. I came to offer you a choice."

Ali raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across his face. "A choice?"

Malick nodded. "Join me, Ali. Work with me. You've seen what this place is like. You know how the world works. Together, we can make something of ourselves. No more groveling, no more chains. We can have power, freedom… everything we ever dreamed of."

Ali stared at him, disbelief mingling with anger. "You want me to become like you? To betray everything we stood for?"

Malick's jaw tightened. "What we stood for doesn't matter anymore. The world isn't kind to dreamers, Ali. It chews them up and spits them out. I'm offering you a way out. Don't be a fool."

Ali shook his head. "You've lost your way, Malick. I can't follow you down this path."

For a brief moment, something flickered in Malick's eyes—regret, maybe, or a shadow of the boy he used to be. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Suit yourself," he said, his tone icy. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He turned to leave, but Ali's voice stopped him. "Why are you really here, Malick?"

Malick paused, his back to Ali. "The sheikh wanted me to deliver a message," he said without turning around. "He knows about your little escape plan. And he's not happy."

Ali's blood ran cold. "You told him," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Malick glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Like I said, Ali. Freedom isn't given. It's taken."

And with that, he walked out, leaving Ali alone with the crushing weight of betrayal.

Ali sank onto the edge of his bed, his mind racing. The betrayal cut deeper than he'd expected. Malick wasn't just a friend; he was family—the brother Ali had chosen. To see him like this, twisted and unrecognizable, was almost too much to bear.

But there was no time to dwell on the pain. The sheikh knew about the escape plan. That meant Ali, Sonia, and the gardener were in immediate danger. He had to act fast.

As he stared at the closed door, a grim determination settled over him. Malick might have chosen his path, but Ali wasn't ready to give up on him. Somewhere beneath that cold exterior, the Malick he knew still existed. And if there was even a sliver of hope, Ali would find a way to save him—no matter the cost.

With a deep breath, Ali stood and began to plan his next move. The stakes were higher than ever, and the odds were stacked against him. But he couldn't afford to fail—not now, not when so much was at risk.

The faint sound of footsteps in the hallway jolted him from his thoughts. He moved quickly, extinguishing the light and pressing himself against the wall. As the footsteps grew louder, he held his breath, his heart pounding.

The door creaked open, and a shadowy figure stepped inside. Ali tensed, ready for anything.

"Ali," a familiar voice whispered. It was the gardener.

"We have a problem," the gardener said, his voice laced with urgency.

Ali nodded, his resolve hardening. "I know. Let's fix it."