Rayyan didn't hesitate. He pulled a compact tactical flashlight from his jacket pocket and shone the beam into the newly opened cavity. It wasn't a large space, more like a secure, walk-in safe built into the thick stone wall of the observatory. The air that rushed out smelled stale, like old paper and electricity.
"After you," he instructed, his voice low and firm.
Ishaal climbed in first. The space was circular, lined with shelving. In the center, on a simple metal pedestal, sat a small, rugged, military-grade data box. It was the only object in the chamber.
Rayyan followed her, his body immediately filling the confined space. He swept the beam over the box, confirming it was inert, no booby traps, just a container.
"That's it," Ishaal whispered, her voice thick with the gravity of the moment. The key she had carried in her heart for years was now face-to-face with the lock.
Rayyan crouched, examining the box. "He couldn't use the lullaby again. Too obvious." He ran his thumb over a small, hidden numerical keypad on the side. "Your father would have used the one thing he knew you'd never forget."
Ishaal looked at the keypad. The code. She thought of her father, not as the victim, but as the man who loved complicated puzzles. She thought of the day he died.
"The date," she realized, sinking to her knees beside the box. "The date he gave me the microphone. He called it our 'official launch date' for my singing career."
She punched in the numbers, a simple, four-digit sequence.
The box clicked open with a soft hiss.
Inside, nestled on velvet, were two things: a single, handwritten journal, leather-bound and thick, and a modern flash drive.
Rayyan immediately snatched the flash drive. "The journal is history; this is the weapon."
He pulled out the compact laptop he had given Ishaal earlier, which he'd carried in his jacket. He didn't connect the drive to his own system, demonstrating a cautious distrust of even his own fortress's network. He inserted the drive into the laptop, and the screen instantly filled with a complex, scrolling document.
Ishaal leaned over his shoulder, her eyes darting across the text. It wasn't purely scientific research. It was a dense report titled: "Raabistan Utility Grid Analysis: The Parasite Network."
Rayyan's breath tightened. "It's about the city's infrastructure," he muttered, scanning the names. "The water supply, the power grid, the city's fiber optics..."
"Look at this," Ishaal pointed to a section detailing the illicit movement of funds used to purchase shares in critical service companies.
Rayyan read the damning analysis, his face turning hard as granite. "This isn't just a funding scheme. Your father was building a case, he wasn't just researching clean energy; he was exposing the men who controlled the city's essentials."
Then, he saw it. Bolded at the top of the flow chart, the single name that commanded the entire operation: "Agha Sarfaraz Khan."
The truth, cold and absolute, finally had a name.
"Agha," Rayyan whispered, the name tasting like poison. "Agha Sarfaraz Khan. He's not just a rival, Ishaal. He's a silent partner in the city itself. He controls the utilities. He controls Raabistan's lifeblood."
Ishaal stared at the name, the reality of her father's murderer finally taking solid form. "He killed him because he was going to turn off the lights on his empire."
Rayyan quickly copied the file to the laptop's hard drive, his movements efficient and practiced. He pulled the flash drive and handed it, along with the leather journal, to Ishaal.
"Keep the originals," he commanded. "Now you are carrying the evidence that can dismantle everything Agha has built." He closed the laptop.
He looked at her, his expression a complicated mix of proprietary concern and shared danger. "Agha wants this research because it exposes his entire network, not just to me, but to the few remaining legitimate authorities in Raabistan. He will do anything to get it back."
"So, what's the move?" Ishaal asked, the fear replaced by a cold, sharp determination.
Rayyan put a single hand on the wall, his weight shifting, his eyes dark with a new, terrifying strategy. "The attack tonight wasn't just a warning. It was a scouting mission. He knows you're his target. We are going to use that. We are going to give Agha something to chase, something that draws him out into the open, away from the shadows he controls."
"And what exactly are we going to give him?"
Rayyan Raheel smiled, a cold, dangerous flash of intent. "We're going to give him the chance to lose what he thinks he already owns."