Ishaal revealed the location, the old, abandoned Observatory on the edge of the university campus, a place her father used to frequent. Rayyan, having already assessed the site's vulnerability, issued quick, silent orders to ready a discreet vehicle.
"Just you and me," he decided. "No guards. We move like smoke."
Ten minutes later, they were in a dark utility van, cutting through the quieter, older parts of Raabistan. The journey was tense and silent. Ishaal clutched the mic case that held her inheritance.
They abandoned the van two blocks from the Observatory. The structure was a towering, decaying dome. Rayyan moved first, scaling the rusty fire escape with silent, economical movements. Ishaal followed, her fear now sharpened into a cold, desperate focus.
They reached the Observation platform. The air was cold and thin. The vast dome was split slightly, showing a sliver of the moon.
Ishaal walked to the center of the circular floor. She sat on the stone ledge where her father used to sit. She placed her hands on the cold surface, preparing to play the silent song. But before her fingers could find the notes, Rayyan was there.
He came up behind her, silent and sudden. He placed his large, warm hands over hers on the ledge, not gripping, but covering. His presence was a solid, unmoving shield against the icy air.
"Wait," he murmured, his voice a low rumble near her ear. "I need to hear it all. Every beat. Every silence. I need to know the code is clean."
He didn't move his hands. He guided hers slightly, positioning them over the imaginary keys of the complex melody. The shared touch was electric, confusing the fear with a deep, unwelcome connection. It was a chord of vulnerability, shared in the face of imminent danger.
"Play, Ishaal," he commanded, his voice dark and deep. "Sing the truth."
Ishaal took a shuddering breath. With Rayyan's heavy, protective presence pressed against her back, she began the silent song. Her fingers tapped the stone ledge, following the exact rhythm and tempo of the coded melody.
When the last 'note' faded, nothing happened.
Ishaal looked down, disappointment and terror mingling. "It didn't work. The code is wrong..."
"Look up," Rayyan interrupted, his voice sharp with triumph.
She looked up at the dome. As the final, held silence of the lullaby dissipated, the huge, rusted metal dome above them began to move. It didn't slide open; it rotated with a slow, grinding roar, its movement activated by the precise acoustic frequency of the rhythm she had just performed.
The dome stopped, not on the sky, but on a section of the wall... revealing a dark, hidden cavity.
"Your father," Rayyan breathed, a rare note of awe in his voice. "He didn't hide the key in a place. He hid the place in the code."
He let go of her hands. The moment of intimacy was instantly replaced by the need for action. "The secret chamber is open, Ishaal. Now we find out what your father died for."