The desert has a particular way of keeping secrets.It does not lock them away. It does not hide them behind walls. It simply buries them beneath sand… and waits.
The wind blew steadily over the ruins of Palmyra, lifting small golden whirlwinds between fractured columns and arches mutilated by time. In the distance, the sun began to rise with almost solemn slowness, as if even it respected the antiquity of the place.
Frank stood still.
He was not looking at the columns.He was not looking at his team.He was looking at the hill.
At the top, the silhouette of the ancient castle dominated the horizon like a dark scar against the blue sky. There was something about that structure that did not belong to the landscape. Something that was not ruin… but presence.
He felt the burning before he was fully aware of it.
The mark on his wrist.
