The safe house was quiet. Too quiet.Hazem sat on the edge of the narrow bed, his back against the wall, his phone in his hand. The news was still on—muted now, the images flickering across the screen in silence. Reporters stood outside hospitals, outside government buildings, outside the shattered remains of the Cairo train station.He had been watching for hours. The death toll had risen again. Twelve. Fifteen. Eighteen. The numbers blurred together, each one a life extinguished, a family shattered, a future erased.His phone buzzed.He looked at the screen. The name made his heart stop.Maryam.He hadn't spoken to her since the confession. Since he had laid bare the truth of who he was and what he did. Since she had asked for time to think, to process, to decide if she could bind her life to his.He had given her space. He had not called. He had not texted. He had not reached out, no matter how much he wanted to.Because that was what she asked for. And because, if he was honest wi

The underground warehouse hummed with life. Servers blinked in their racks. Armors stood in their glass cases, silent sentinels waiting for war. The air was cool and clean, filtered by systems Ali had designed himself, and the lighting was soft but ample—enough to work by, not so bright as to attract attention from the surface. Ali stood at the center of it all, a tablet in his hand, a list of tasks scrolling on the screen. Around him, his brothers moved with purpose—Marwan inspecting the weapon racks, Laith testing the security doors, Hamza and Nawras carrying crates of equipment from the delivery bay to the storage rooms. It had been days since the meeting at the safe house. Days of planning, of coordination, of convincing the other Knights groups to come back to the table. But that was Hazem's work, Hadi's work. This—the warehouse, the technology, the preparations for a war that no one wanted but everyone could feel coming, this was Ali's. And he would not fail. --- "The e

The training yard behind the headquarters was bathed in the pale light of early morning. The sun had not yet cleared the eastern ridge, and the air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of dew and dust. Ali stood at the center of the yard, his arms crossed, watching his brothers warm up.Sami rolled his shoulders, shaking out the stiffness from sleep. Samir stretched his hamstrings, his face focused, serious. They had been training for months now—not just the basics, but real combat, real techniques, real stakes. They had killed a Ghoul. They had saved lives. They had proven themselves.But Ali needed more than proof. He needed certainty."Come here," he said.The brothers stopped their warm-ups and walked toward him, standing side by side. They were young, too young, maybe—but their eyes held something that age couldn't measure. Determination. Fire. The willingness to stand when everything told them to fall.Ali looked at them for a long moment. Then he spoke."I'm going to ask you a

The private chamber beneath the presidential palace was colder than usual. Or perhaps it was just Bin Zahid's imagination. The ancient tapestries seemed to shudder on the walls, their depictions of pre-human victories now feeling less like history and more like prophecy. Labib sat on his iron throne, his green eyes half-closed, his fingers steepled before him. He had returned from Jerusalem an hour ago. He had not spoken since. Bin Zahid knelt on the cold stone floor, his knees aching, his head bowed. He had learned long ago not to break the silence. Labib spoke when Labib was ready. "The mosque was beautiful," Labib said finally. His voice was soft, almost dreamy. "The architecture. The light. The way the faithful moved through the courtyard, so certain of their safety." Bin Zahid raised his head slightly. "You went to the mosque. To the Holy Mosque." "I went to be seen." "By whom?" Labib opened his eyes. They gleamed in the dim light. "By the Commander. By Hazem. He was there,

The ancient Roman theatre stood in ruins, its stone seats cracked and weathered, its stage long since swallowed by dust and time. The sun was high overhead, casting harsh shadows across the broken marble. Hazem stood at the center of what had once been the orchestra pit, turning slowly, his eyes scanning every shadow, every crevice, every possible hiding place.Nothing.Jamil stood on the highest tier of seats, his arms crossed, his expression grim. He had been here before. With Hazem. The first time. When they had seen Labib standing among the ruins like a ghost who had forgotten he was dead."It looked different at night," Jamil said, descending the worn steps. "The shadows were deeper. The air was colder. He seemed larger.""He's the same size," Hazem replied. "We just see him differently now."Jamil stopped beside him, looking out at the empty theatre. "We've been here for hours. There's nothing.""There has to be something.""There doesn't have to be anything. He's not stupid. He