Iroh stepped out of Tahir's office into the midday heat, the weight of his warning—You're stepping into their shadow—settling alongside the scarab watch in her pocket. The professor's words about the missing archaeologists and the Night's Servants had sharpened her resolve, but they also deepened the mystery of her parents' letter: The shadow beneath the sun stirs. Return to Cairo. Trust the scarab. Luxor was a starting point, a place to gather fragments of truth before heading to Cairo, and Tahir's mention of the vanished researchers gave her a lead. One of them, Dr. Amal Nasser, had been based in Luxor, her last known location a dig site near the Karnak temple complex. Iroh adjusted her satchel, the journal and bronze ankh inside a steady presence, and hailed a taxi to pursue the clue.
The ride was brief, the driver navigating Luxor's crowded streets with practiced ease, weaving past vendors and tourists. Iroh's thoughts churned, replaying Tahir's account of the disappearances—four archaeologists, all linked to Amon's early worship, vanishing without a trace. The idea of a cult, the Night's Servants, felt like a thread connecting her parents' work to the present, but it was too vague, too elusive. She needed something tangible, a piece of the puzzle to anchor her next steps.
The taxi stopped near the Karnak complex, its towering pylons visible through a haze of dust. Iroh paid the driver and approached the dig site, a cordoned-off area marked by wooden stakes and faded tape. The site was quieter than she expected, no workers or equipment in sight, only a small tent flapping in the breeze. She ducked under the tape, her boots crunching on loose gravel, and scanned the area. Trenches crisscrossed the ground, revealing fragments of pottery and stone, but the site felt abandoned, as though its purpose had been abruptly severed.
Inside the tent, a folding table held a clutter of tools—brushes, trowels, a cracked magnifying glass. Iroh's pulse quickened as she spotted a notebook, its cover stained with dirt, lying open beside a half-empty water bottle. The handwriting was neat, precise, unmistakably Amal's—she had met the archaeologist once, years ago, at one of her parents' lectures. Iroh flipped through the pages, her eyes catching phrases: Amon's seal, solar alignment, benben stone. The last entry, dated two weeks ago, read: "Excavation at secondary chamber complete. Benben stone referenced in inscription, possibly linked to Amon's hidden power. Must consult Cairo contact—urgent."
The benben stone. Iroh's breath caught. Her parents had spoken of it—a conical relic, sacred to Ra, symbolizing creation and the sun's first light. If Amal's team was investigating it in connection to Amon, it could tie to the seal Tahir mentioned, the one her parents believed held Amon's power in check. She tucked the notebook into her satchel, her fingers brushing the scarab watch, which felt warmer than it should, its ticking a faint pulse against her skin.
A shadow moved outside the tent, and Iroh tensed, her hand slipping to the ankh in her satchel. She stepped to the entrance, peering out, and saw a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, crouching near a trench. He wore a faded linen shirt and a kufi cap, his hands sifting through the dirt with practiced care. He glanced up, his dark eyes wary but curious, and stood, brushing dust from his palms.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said, his accent local, his tone more cautious than hostile. "This site's closed."
Iroh relaxed her grip on the ankh, stepping into the sunlight. "I'm not a tourist," she said, keeping her voice steady. "I'm looking into Dr. Nasser's work. I'm… a colleague." It wasn't entirely true, but close enough.
The man's expression softened, though his guard remained. "Amal's gone," he said, his voice tight. "Disappeared, like the others. I'm Sami—her assistant. I come back sometimes, hoping…" He trailed off, glancing at the trench as if it might yield answers.
"I'm Iroh," she said, sensing an opportunity. "I knew Amal through my parents, Amina and Khaled. I'm trying to understand what happened. Can you tell me anything about her last days here?"
Sami's eyes widened at the mention of her parents. "Amina and Khaled… the ones who vanished in the Sahara?" He hesitated, then nodded, gesturing to the tent. "Come, it's cooler inside. But there's not much to tell."
They sat on folding chairs, the tent's canvas muffling the outside world. Sami poured water from a jug into two tin cups, his movements deliberate, as though stalling. "Amal was excited," he began, handing her a cup. "She'd found something in the secondary chamber—a wall with inscriptions about Amon and the benben stone. She said it was a breakthrough, something that could rewrite the Second Dynasty's history."
Iroh leaned forward, the notebook heavy in her satchel. "What kind of breakthrough?"
Sami shrugged, his eyes distant. "She didn't share details, not with me. But she was meeting someone in Cairo, someone who knew about Amon's worship. She left for the city two weeks ago, said she'd be back in a day. Then… nothing." His voice cracked, and he looked away, his fingers tightening around his cup.
Iroh's mind raced. Cairo—her next destination, where Sophia was tracking similar incidents. The benben stone, Amon's seal, her parents' letter—it all pointed to a larger pattern, one she was only beginning to glimpse. "Did she mention a group called the Night's Servants?" she asked, recalling Tahir's warning.
Sami's head snapped up, his expression guarded. "No. But she was nervous, the last few days. Kept looking over her shoulder, like she was being watched. I thought it was the pressure, but now…" He shook his head. "You think someone took her?"
"I don't know," Iroh admitted, her fingers brushing the watch. "But I'm going to find out. Did she leave anything behind—notes, artifacts?"
Sami pointed to the table. "That notebook was hers. She wrote everything in it. If there's a clue, it's there." He paused, his voice softening. "You're like her, you know. Amal. She never stopped asking questions, even when it scared her."
The comparison stung, echoing Tahir's words about her parents. Iroh stood, slipping the notebook back into her satchel. "Thank you, Sami. If you hear anything, contact Tahir Moussa at the university. He'll know how to reach me."
Sami nodded, rising to walk her out. "Be careful, Iroh. Whoever took Amal… they don't leave traces."
She stepped into the sunlight, the dig site's silence pressing against her. The benben stone was a lead, fragile but real, tying Amal's work to her parents' obsession with Amon's seal. The watch ticked in her pocket, its warmth a quiet pulse, and for a moment, she thought she heard a whisper—formless, fleeting, like the echo of a dream. She shook it off, focusing on the path ahead. Cairo was waiting, and with it, Sophia, who might hold the next piece of the puzzle.
As she hailed a taxi back to her hotel, Iroh felt the weight of her parents' legacy settle deeper. The shadow beneath the sun was stirring, and she was no longer just a scholar—she was a seeker, drawn into a mystery that spanned gods and time. The road to Cairo loomed, promising answers and dangers, and Iroh knew she would face them, the scarab watch her guide, its ticking a heartbeat in the gathering storm.