Veil Of Silence

The manuscript burned against Sayid's chest like an ember that refused to cool.

For weeks, he had carried it across deserts, hidden it in the folds of his robes, and clutched it in the dead of night, afraid that if he let go, the truth within would slip away.

But now, in the dim candlelight of a rented chamber above a spice merchant's shop, he stared at the brittle parchment and wondered—was the truth worth the price it demanded?

Outside, Al-Qadira pulsed with life. The city never slept. Even at this hour, the streets hummed with distant voices, the clatter of hooves against stone, the occasional burst of laughter from the wine dens. The air was thick with the scent of roasted dates, saffron, and aged leather, carried through the open window on a warm breeze.

Inside, the room was still. Too still.

Mehri leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with sharp, unreadable eyes. "You haven't slept."

Sayid didn't look up. "Neither have you."

She didn't deny it.

There was something between them—something unspoken that lingered like smoke after a fire. It had been there since the moment she had stepped back into his life, dragging him from the jaws of death and into a world of shifting loyalties.

Silence stretched between them. Then, after a moment, Mehri pushed away from the wall. "Are you sure about this?"

Sayid exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn't.

But he had no choice.

Ardashir had named his price: break into the Sultan's palace and retrieve a single page—one that had been torn from a greater manuscript, hidden away in the royal archives.

Sayid didn't know what was written on it.

Only that men had killed for far less.

Mehri was watching him. "You don't have to do this."

Sayid's fingers tightened around the manuscript. "If I don't, we'll never know who's after me."

"Or we'll die trying."

Sayid looked up at her, and for the first time since they had escaped the assassins in the alley, he saw something in her gaze that unsettled him.

Fear.

Not for herself.

For him.

He forced a smirk, though it felt hollow. "You almost sound like you care."

Mehri rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid." But she didn't move away.

Sayid let out a slow breath.

The game had already begun.

And the next move was his.

---

The candle flickered as Sayid unrolled the manuscript once more, his eyes scanning the delicate script. The ink had faded, but the weight of the words pressed against his mind like a warning.

He had spent years chasing truths buried beneath the sands of time, only to find that the closer he came, the more the world conspired to keep them hidden.

Mehri shifted, her voice quiet but firm. "Ardashir won't wait forever."

Sayid closed his eyes. The Sultan's palace loomed in his mind—a fortress of marble and shadow, guarded by men who would rather die than fail their master. If he stepped inside, he would not leave unchanged.

But there was no other way.

He pushed himself up from the low table. "Then we won't make him wait."

Mehri studied him, searching for hesitation in his face. If she found any, she said nothing. Instead, she adjusted the wrap around her head, concealing most of her features. "We'll need a way inside."

Sayid nodded. "There's an entrance near the eastern wall. The old aqueduct—part of it still runs beneath the archives."

Mehri raised an eyebrow. "And how, exactly, do you know this?"

Sayid smirked. "Because I've used it before."

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Of course you have."

The tension in the air didn't fade, but for a moment, it shifted—became something lighter.

Sayid rolled the manuscript tightly and secured it beneath his robe. "We leave in an hour. The city's quieter just before dawn."

Mehri hesitated, then reached out and lightly touched his sleeve. "Sayid—"

He turned to her, surprised by the way her voice softened.

"Just remember," she said quietly, "not all truths are meant to be known."

Sayid held her gaze, and for the first time, he wasn't sure if he was chasing knowledge or running from it.

But it was too late to stop now.

The sands of fate had already begun to shift.

---

A Shadow in the City

The streets of Al-Qadira were different at night.

The city of a thousand lanterns dimmed under the hush of early morning, but danger still lurked beneath its golden domes and winding alleys. The guards patrolled in pairs, their torches casting flickering pools of light against the sandstone walls.

Sayid and Mehri moved in silence.

They kept to the shadows, slipping between vendors' carts and beneath the woven awnings of spice traders. Sayid's heart pounded with every step. He had walked these streets a hundred times before, but never like this. Never with the knowledge that failure would mean more than just capture—it would mean death.

Mehri kept close behind him, her movements fluid and precise. She was no ordinary thief. No mere smuggler. He had always suspected there was more to her than she let on, but now was not the time to ask.

Ahead, the palace walls loomed like a mountain of stone and gold. The eastern aqueduct entrance was hidden beneath a cluster of abandoned storage houses, half-buried in the sand.

Sayid crouched beside a crumbling wall and motioned for Mehri to stop.

"There," he whispered.

Mehri followed his gaze. "Looks sealed."

"It isn't." He pressed a hand against a particular stone near the base of the wall. After a moment, it gave way, revealing a narrow gap just wide enough for them to slip through.

Mehri exhaled. "Convenient."

Sayid grinned. "I told you—I've used it before."

She shot him a glare but said nothing as she crouched and slid inside.

Sayid followed, pulling the stone back into place behind them.

The darkness swallowed them whole.

---

The Path Beneath

The air inside the aqueduct was damp and stale, thick with the scent of mold and old water.

Sayid led the way, fingers trailing along the rough stone walls. The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for them to walk side by side. Water dripped from unseen cracks above, echoing in the silence.

Mehri's voice was low. "How far?"

"Not much further."

Time stretched. Every sound felt amplified—their breaths, their footsteps, the distant rustle of rats in the shadows.

Then, ahead, Sayid saw it.

A faint glow.

The passage opened into a wider chamber, lit by the flickering flames of braziers mounted on the walls. Stone steps led upward—to the archives.

Sayid turned to Mehri.

"This is it."

She nodded, drawing a dagger from beneath her cloak. "Then let's not waste time."

Sayid's pulse quickened as he reached for the latch on the iron door.

Beyond it lay the secrets that had haunted him for years.

The truths hidden in ink and silence.

And the danger waiting in the dark.