Part 2

The mysterious moon in the sky, like a lonely sentinel, kept hiding itself every now and then behind thick blankets of dark clouds. Each time it veiled its face, the world below sank into a dreadful darkness—an abyss that stirred the deepest fears of the human heart.

In front of the mansion’s massive wooden doors—like the very gates of hell—stood fierce-looking dogs. Their eyes burned with a primal wildness, their sharp teeth flashing in the faint light of the moon. Beside them stood tall, broad-shouldered guards. Their faces were as hard as stone, their eyes shining with unshaken resolve. Like warriors, they kept watch with sleepless vigilance.

Corporal Rajib, whose handsome face carried the mark of determination, stood at the front. By his side was Soldier Moon, tall and striking, embodying the very image of an ideal warrior. Together, they waited for the thieves—every breath of theirs thick with tension and anticipation.

Meanwhile, at the back of the mansion, where the shadows were darker and more secretive, three thieves had just completed hours of relentless digging. Their hands dripped with sweat, their clothes smeared with earth, yet their eyes blazed with the fire of triumph. Through the secret tunnel they had carved, like shadows rising from the underworld, they finally slipped inside the house.

Around the mansion stood towering ancient trees, their massive trunks and drooping branches like silent sentinels that had guarded the earth for thousands of years. The soft breeze that whispered through their leaves sounded like those old guardians’ forgotten voices—a language only the night itself could understand.

Three shadowy figures, like messengers of a curse, cut through the darkness as they moved. Each step was silent, yet the ground seemed to tremble with their presence. They stopped at the back of the six-story mansion—the last refuge from the burning eyes of unseen spirits.

Suddenly, the heavy clouds tore apart, and the moon revealed its silver face. For a fleeting moment, the world bathed in a divine glow, as though heaven itself had poured light upon the earth. Then, just as quickly, the moon slipped back into its mysterious veil. But in that brief shimmer of light, one could see a tall figure climbing a rope with extraordinary agility and grace, his every movement carrying an almost otherworldly elegance.

In moments, the three men had scaled the rope and reached the second floor. At the lead was Hamad—their leader—his sharp eyes burning with alertness. With a silent gesture, he commanded his men to stay quiet. Each movement of his hand was an order without words. Leaning close to Usuf’s ear, he whispered,
“Fifth floor. Room number six.”

On the wide balcony above, a blue-tinged flame from a gas lamp flickered like a strange beacon. In its eerie glow, the three men crouched low, moving forward with the supple silence of cats. Usuf went first, determination clear on his striking face. Behind him came Salih, eyes sharp with intelligence. And last of all, Hamad—like the commanding figure of a shadowed procession.

Suddenly, Salih froze. Before him stood a black cat, a living shadow born of the night itself. Its emerald-green eyes locked with his, as if two souls were locked in an ancient duel. For a tense moment, the air thickened with silence. Then Salih’s face twisted with menace, his eyes flaring with wild fire as he lunged forward, making a grotesque face at the creature. The cat tilted its head, studied him for a moment, then with a pitiful meow fled into the night.

From behind, Hamad struck Salih lightly on the head with his strong hand. His deep voice dripped with annoyance and urgency.
“Move. Save your drama for later.”

At the chosen door, Usuf—his face calm with the confidence of a master craftsman—brought out the special tools Mir had given him. His long, powerful fingers worked with the precision of an artist’s brush, each movement silent, each touch measured, as if he were weaving a spell to open the lock.

The balcony lay under a cloak of heavy darkness, as though the night itself had draped its black veil there. In this thick silence, Salih straightened, his restlessness written across his handsome face. While Usuf and Hamad were completely absorbed in the lock’s intricate mechanism, Salih began to wander restlessly, moving with a strange elegance, like a silent dancer whose every step carried an odd grace.

In one shadowed corner of the balcony, a thin layer of oil had been spilled across the floor—set as if by an unseen hand, a hidden snare waiting to claim its prey. In the dim light, Salih’s confidence only grew. In his proud mind, he thought: his steps were soundless, his body was one with the shadows. The thought filled him with vanity, and he began to tread with a subtle, almost playful rhythm—his eyes glittering with the thrill of victory.

And then fate mocked him. His right foot slid into the oil. In an instant, his body betrayed him—his leg flailed upward, and he crashed onto the floor with a thundering noise, as if the mansion itself had been struck.

Hamad and Usuf—so focused moments before on the delicate art of unlocking—froze as the sound ripped through the silence. Their faces twisted in alarm, their hearts jolted as though lightning had struck them. Spinning around, they saw Salih sprawled on the floor, his face full of confusion, his eyes wide with helpless disbelief.

The mysterious moon in the sky, like a lonely sentinel, kept hiding behind thick black clouds from time to time. Each time it veiled its face, a dreadful darkness fell upon the earth—darkness that awakened the deepest fears within the human heart.

In front of the mansion’s massive wooden gates—like the threshold of hell itself—stood terrifying guard dogs. Their eyes burned with a primal wildness, teeth gleaming under the faint silver glow of the moon. Beside them stood tall, muscular guards, their faces hard as stone, their eyes reflecting an unbreakable resolve. With sleepless vigilance, like warriors on the edge of battle, they kept watch on every shadow.

Corporal Rajib, whose handsome face carried the mark of determination, stood at the front. Beside him was the soldier Moon, tall and striking, his presence the very picture of an ideal warrior. The two of them waited in silence for the thieves, every breath heavy with expectation and tension.

Meanwhile, at the back of the mansion—where the night was deeper, heavier, more secretive—three thieves had finally finished their hours of digging. Their hands were slick with sweat, their clothes stained with earth, but their eyes glowed with the fire of success. Through the hidden tunnel they had carved, they slipped into the estate, like shadows rising from the womb of the underworld.

Around the house, towering ancient trees stood as if they were eternal guardians. Their massive trunks and drooping branches loomed, and the whispering wind through their leaves carried the voices of long-forgotten sentries—a language only the night could understand.

Three shadowy figures advanced, like cursed envoys tearing through the dark. Every step was silent, yet the ground itself seemed to tremble at their presence. They reached the back of the six-story building—last refuge from the burning eyes of restless spirits.

Suddenly, the clouds broke apart, and the moon revealed its silver face. For a fleeting moment the world bathed in divine light. Then the veil of mystery returned, but not before it exposed a figure scaling a rope with uncanny speed and grace. Every motion of his body carried a strange, almost supernatural beauty.

The three men, tall and lithe, climbed the rope and reached the second floor. Hamad, their leader, bore all the qualities of command upon his face. His deep eyes burned with vigilance. With a sharp gesture he ordered his companions to silence—every signal of his hands a silent command. Leaning close to Usuf’s ear, he whispered,
“We need to reach the sixth room on the fifth floor.”

On the wide corridor of the fifth floor, the pale blue flame of a gas lamp flickered, like a ghostly beacon in the night. Bent low under its light, the three men crept forward with the supple grace of cats. Usuf led the way, his handsome face lit with determination. Behind him came Salih, his eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence. Hamad brought up the rear, like the dark hero of some grim procession.

Then suddenly, Salih froze. In front of him sat a black cat, as if born from the very heart of the night. Its emerald eyes locked with his own, two souls measuring each other in silence—like eternal enemies locked in a wordless duel. The air grew taut with tension.

Salih’s handsome face twisted into something fierce. He took a step forward, eyes blazing with feral fire. The cat tilted its head for a moment, studying him. Then, with a pitiful meow, it fled into the shadows.

From behind, Hamad struck Salih lightly but sharply on the head. His deep voice carried both irritation and urgency:
“Move. Save the drama for later.”

Reaching the door, Usuf brought out the special tools given by Mir. His fingers moved with quiet precision. Every motion was silent, every touch measured—like he was casting some secret spell to unlock the lock.

This part of the corridor was drowned in heavy darkness, as if the night itself had spread its black cloak there. In that eerie atmosphere, Salih straightened his body. Restlessness flickered across his face. Usuf and Hamad were so absorbed in the intricate work of the lock that they didn’t notice Salih’s unease.

Salih began to pace quietly, like a silent warrior, every step carrying an odd kind of grace. In one shadowy corner of the corridor, a thin layer of oil had spilled across the floor—like a hidden trap waiting for its prey. In the faint light, Salih’s confidence swelled. He thought to himself that his footsteps had blended into the shadows, leaving no sound at all. Pride filled him, and he even began to step with a playful rhythm, almost like a silent dance, victory shining in his eyes.

And then fate mocked him. His right foot slowly pressed onto the slick oil. In an instant he slipped. His leg flew upward, and his tall frame crashed to the floor with a noise like something shattering.

Hamad and Usuf, completely focused on the lock, jerked in shock at the sudden sound—like lightning striking their hearts. Terror twisted their faces. They spun around and saw Salih sprawled on the floor, confusion written on his face, helpless surprise glowing in his eyes.

Deathly silence fell all around. Holding their breath, both men froze like statues, straining their ears for the slightest sign of the guards. A single minute stretched like a century. Two minutes… five minutes… time itself seemed to stop. Their hearts pounded wildly, their bodies quivering with tension—like condemned men awaiting their doom.

But no sound rose from below. The world seemed to have gone silent. Both men finally exhaled deeply in relief.

Usuf’s lips twitched with a suppressed smile. Mischief sparked in his eyes, but with great effort he held back his laughter. He went over and pulled Salih up to his feet.

Hamad’s deep voice rumbled with anger. His fiery eyes locked on Salih.
“I warned you not to wander around.”

Salih stood awkwardly, shame and guilt painted across his face. Behind him, Usuf covered his mouth, shaking silently with laughter, savoring the ridiculousness of the moment.

At last, Usuf cracked the lock, and the three slipped inside. Hamad opened a cabinet and began filling a sack with important papers and documents. Distrusting Salih, he gave him no work at all.

They left that room and entered another, stealing gold ornaments and precious jewels. Greed flared in their eyes. Then they stepped into a luxurious bedroom. Beside it stood another door—as if it hid mysteries waiting to be discovered.

Usuf, cautious as a cat, pushed the door open first and slipped inside. Salih followed. But as he entered, a part of his clothing snagged on the latch. The door closed behind him with a dull thud, as though some mischievous spirit had sealed it shut.

Hamad, keeping watch to the rear, didn’t notice the door closing. He moved forward silently, every step careful. Then—suddenly—a soft bump! He whipped his head around, only to smash his forehead against the door. Pain shot through him, his face turning red with anger.

Furious, Hamad yanked the door with all his strength. Salih, still caught in it, was dragged backward like a helpless ragdoll. With a heavy thud, he toppled straight onto Hamad. Unable to withstand the sudden blow, Hamad collapsed too. The two of them tumbled across the floor like wrestlers locked in a furious struggle.

For a few moments, silence reigned—time itself seemed frozen. Usuf, watching the absurd scene, clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. His eyes danced with uncontainable amusement.

Hamad rose from the floor, rage blazing in his face. His fiery eyes burned into Salih. Raising his hand, he struck Salih’s head with a sharp blow—like a crack of thunder. Salih rubbed his head in bewilderment, his handsome face showing both despair and disbelief. Inwardly he wondered: why do these strange mishaps always happen to him, as though the world itself conspired against him?

The room was filled with ornate cabinets, gleaming like hidden treasures of a royal vault. Hamad and Usuf moved toward them, sharp-eyed like hunters eager for prey.

Meanwhile, Salih’s curious gaze wandered. In another corner of the room, he noticed a mysterious door. An unstoppable curiosity pulled him forward. He stepped through and discovered—a grand kitchen, lavish and splendid, like the royal kitchen of a palace.

After a long while, Usuf suddenly noticed with sharp eyes that Salih was not in the room. A shadow of worry passed over his face. He stepped quietly toward the kitchen to look for him.

The moment he entered, Usuf froze—utterly stunned, as if he had walked into a miracle.

Right before his eyes, Salih was sitting comfortably, enjoying a bowl of thick, snow-white yogurt. On his handsome face, streaks of yogurt clung to his lips, his eyes glowed with bliss, and at the corner of his mouth danced a smile so serene it seemed as if he had tasted every joy the world could offer.

Seeing this, Usuf’s lips curved into a gentle smile. He said nothing—unwilling to shatter the sweetness of the moment—and silently left the room.

After some more bites of delicious food, Salih returned to the room satisfied, perhaps for the first time in a long while.

By then, Hamad and Usuf were still busy stuffing their precious documents into sacks. Having nothing special to do, Salih went to rest on an old wooden chair in the corner of the room. But the instant he sat down, the chair gave a faint, sharp creak—a warning, almost like an omen.

Salih glanced around, confused, but noticing nothing unusual, he ignored the sound and sat down harder. In the next moment, with a harsh, cracking roar, the chair shattered beneath him. Salih collapsed into the heap of splintered wood.

Both Hamad and Usuf stopped their frantic search and turned at the noise. Their jaws dropped. Their eyes widened in disbelief. There lay Salih, sprawled awkwardly across the broken chair, limbs askew like a torn puppet.

Hamad’s whole body began to tremble with fury—like a volcano about to erupt. His face twisted with rage, his burning eyes locked on Salih. With a violent gesture, he ordered him to stay down exactly as he had fallen.

Usuf hurried to the door and stood watch, pressing his ear against the frame to catch the faintest sound. His heart hammered wildly inside his chest.

The silence that followed was the silence of a graveyard. The entire world seemed frozen. The three of them felt their hearts pound faster and faster, beating like drums inside their ribs.

Ten long minutes crawled by. Nothing. No footsteps, no whispers, no sign of anyone approaching. Finally, Usuf let out a breath of relief and helped Salih up from the ruins of the broken chair.

Then Hamad growled in a deep, harsh voice, like a lion cornered in the dark. His eyes still blazing, he commanded:

“You will stand straight. Not a single movement.”

Salih stood frozen, caught like a shadow trembling in the dark. His eyes flickered with embarrassment, but deep inside, a strange unease coiled within him. The air itself had grown heavy—thick with the smell of old wood, damp paper, and somewhere faintly, the metallic tang of iron.

Usuf kept glancing out the cracks of the window, searching the dark corridor beyond for the slightest hint of movement. Hamad’s gaze was unshaken, sharp as a lion’s, yet in his eyes there was the faint pull of urgency—he knew time was slipping away.

Somewhere far off, a sound stirred, then slowly faded. The silence deepened, so thick that every breath, every heartbeat, seemed to echo in the room.

The moon slid behind the clouds. Through the window, a single beam of silver light fell across the floor, cutting the room into two halves—an invisible boundary of light and shadow.

Salih stood right at its edge, caught between brightness and darkness, steadying himself.

Usuf’s hands moved quickly, stuffing more papers into the sack, though his ears strained for every whisper around them.

Hamad moved slowly toward the door, gripping the handle of his shovel tighter and tighter.

Suddenly, the wind from the jungle rushed through the cracks of the window. Silent as a flame, it swept across the room, rattling loose pages and nudging an old shutter until it creaked on its hinges.

From now on, every sound, every movement, could be the last.