The boat cut through the calm, black water of the Tigris river like a knife. The glittering lights of Basra slowly receded behind them, and soon they were enveloped in a profound darkness, where the countless stars in the sky were their only companions. A deep, almost unnatural, silence surrounded them, broken only by the rhythmic, low rumble of the boat's engine.
Mayra, Sara, and Jerome sat huddled together at the front of the boat. They had wrapped themselves in rough woolen blankets to ward off the chill of the night, but this was a cold that came from within—a chill born of shock, fear, and a bone deep uncertainty. The scene at the coffee shop—the impossible white light, the vibrating hum, and the subsequent, terrifying silence—played over and over in their minds like a recurring nightmare.
They had escaped. But at what cost? And from what, exactly?
The man steering the boat, Captain Saad, stood at the stern, his weathered hands steady on the tiller. He was a mountain of a man—tall, broad, and completely silent. His wrinkled face, etched with the lines of countless years on the river, was as unreadable as the dark water before them. Since they had boarded, he had not spoken a single word. His eyes were fixed on the path ahead, as if he could read a language in the waves that no one else could understand.
After several hours of travel, it was Jerome who finally broke the heavy silence. His voice was little more than a strained whisper, as if he were afraid the river itself might be listening.
"He… he is a monster."
Mayra and Sara did not respond, but they both knew exactly who he was talking about. Attar. The name was no longer just a mystery; it had become a source of profound dread.
Jerome's voice trembled with disbelief as he continued. "Did you see what he did? That shop… that light… he eliminated all those people. Alone. Without a moment's hesitation. He is not some playful riddler. He is a killer."
Sara pulled her blanket tighter around her face, her voice wavering in the wind. "He saved our lives, Jerome. If he had not done… whatever it was he did… we would be in some dark Syndicate cellar right now. Those men… they would have gotten everything from us." Everything. The word hung in the air, filled with unspoken horrors.
A short, bitter laugh, devoid of any humor, escaped Jerome's lips. "Saved us? Or pushed us deeper into his game? Think about it, Sara. How did we end up here? Because of his riddles. He summoned us to Basra. He led us to that coffee shop. It was a trap, Sara. And we were the bait. Maybe he did not want to eliminate the Syndicate. Maybe he just wanted to send them a message, and we were the bloody pigeons to deliver it."
Jerome's words were sharp because they carried a sliver of truth. Mayra had been thinking the same thing. Had Attar saved them, or had he simply used them for his own dangerous purposes? She could feel the second, oval-shaped seal, which she had quickly pocketed, pressing against her leg through her trousers. Attar had called it the 'next key.' It felt more like a leash, tying them to an unseen master.
Mayra forced her voice to be steady, making sure it carried over the engine's noise to the silent man at the stern. "Where are we going?"
Captain Saad did not take his eyes off the water. His deep, rumbling voice echoed in the night's silence, like stones grinding together. "To a safe place."
Jerome's patience was wearing thin. "And where is this safe place? How long are we going to keep chasing these riddles? Tell us something! How do you know this man? Why do you work for him?"
This time, Captain Saad slowed the boat. The engine's rumble softened to a low purr. He turned to face them fully for the first time. In the pale moonlight, his eyes looked as deep and mysterious as an old well. He looked out at the dark water for a long moment before he spoke. "Some debts… they are paid over generations, boy. And some storms… only a few old sailors can recognize them before they arrive."
Mayra's voice was gentle but firm. "What storm? What are we searching for, Saad?"
The old captain turned to her, and for the first time, she saw a deep, profound warning in his eyes. "You are not searching for a treasure, Doctor. You are digging up a grave. And you have no idea what lies sleeping in that grave. Just know this… Attar is the one who stands guard over it."
His words, more cryptic and ominous than any direct explanation, sent a fresh chill down their spines. He was not giving them answers; he was giving them warnings, painting a picture of a danger far greater than they had imagined.
With that, he turned back to steering the boat, leaving them in a silence that was now filled not with exhaustion, but with a new and heavier kind of dread. A grave? What slept inside it? Attar's mystery was becoming a riddle wrapped in an enigma.
A few hours later, the boat slowed and came to a stop near a small, deserted island. The island was so heavily wooded with dense shrubs that it looked like a dark blotch in the night.
Captain Saad's voice broke the silence. "We are here." He maneuvered the boat into a small, hidden dock, expertly concealed by overhanging branches.
They disembarked, their legs unsteady after the long journey. On the island stood a small, old wooden house, almost completely hidden among the trees. The warm, yellow light of a lantern was filtering through its window, a welcoming beacon in the cold, dark night.
Sara's voice was a whisper. "What is this place?"
"A safe house," Saad answered. "Here, not even the Syndicate can find you. Go inside. Rest. We will talk in the morning."
The atmosphere inside the house was simple and comforting. A sturdy wooden table, a few chairs, and old maps of the river hanging on the walls. The air smelled of dry wood and a faint, pleasant scent of some unknown herb.
Mayra placed the two seals on the table—the first, with the five pointed star, and the second, with the snake. Next to them, she placed Captain Conroy's diary. These three items were their entire world now. Their hope, their danger, and their puzzle.
They had reached another stop on their journey. But it did not feel like a destination. It felt like a temporary shelter in the middle of a raging storm. And now, they understood that the storm was far more ancient and far more dangerous than they had ever believed.
How would they unlock the secrets of that diary?
What would be Attar's next move?
And when they left this island, what kind of world would be waiting for them? Would the Syndicate, and the secrets of the grave they were digging, be hunting them with even more ferocity?