The heavy door creaked open as Maher and Ameer were led into the dimly lit investigation room. The air was thick with tension, and the flickering fluorescent light above cast long shadows on the walls. Sitting at the table, arms crossed, was Sam—his sharp eyes locked onto them with an unsettling calm.
"Well, well," Sam said, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Look who finally decided to join me."
Maher frowned, glancing at Ameer before stepping forward. "What's going on, Sam? Why are we here like this?"
Sam leaned back in his chair, tilting his head. "You two really thought I didn't know about that little camera you planted on me?" He chuckled darkly. "I let you play your little game. I wanted to catch you red handed."
Ameer's jaw tightened. "We were doing our jobs as police officers. There's no reason for us to be treated like suspects."
Before Sam could respond, the door swung open again, and Detective Ziyad strode in, his expression cold. "A traffic officer and a rookie have no business sticking their noses into a case like this," he snapped.
Maher's hands clenched into fists. "It's exactly where we should be sticking our noses!" he shot back, his voice rising. "Or is it that you don't want anyone else digging into this? Too afraid we'll expose Sameer?"
Sam let out a dry laugh. "Our job is to maintain order and security. There are revolutionaries out there just waiting for a reason to riot. If they find out about the Prime Minister's son, they'll turn this into chaos. We are preventing that."
Ameer shook his head, disgusted. "Protecting criminals isn't our job. It's the opposite of what we stand for."
In a flash, Sam's fist slammed into Ameer's face, sending him stumbling back. "Shut your mouth, kid," Sam snarled. "You don't know a damn thing about this job."
Maher roared in anger and lunged forward, but before he could reach Sam, Ziyad swung a metal pipe hard against the back of his head. Maher crumpled to the floor with a groan, his vision swimming.
Ameer rushed to his side, glaring up at them. "You're no better than the criminals we arrest!"
Sam straightened his jacket, looking down at them with cold indifference. "Welcome to the real world, rookies."
The door slammed shut, leaving them in the suffocating silence of the investigation room.
___
Maher's parents sat in their dimly lit living room, the air heavy with worry. His mother, clutched her phone in trembling hands, her eyes red from crying. His father, paced back and forth, running a hand through his graying hair in frustration.
"He hasn't answered his phone in days," his mother Amani whispered, her voice breaking. "This isn't like him."
Her husband Mahmoud stopped pacing and grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to the police station. Someone there must know something."
---
The station was bustling with officers, but none paid Mahmoud much attention until he approached the front desk. A tired-looking sergeant glanced up, barely masking his annoyance.
"My son, Maher—he works here. I need to know if anyone's seen him," he said, forcing his voice to stay steady.
The sergeant sighed, flipping through a logbook. "Maher hasn't shown up for his shifts in days. If he's missing, file a report like everyone else."
Mahmoud's jaw tightened. "He's one of your own! Don't you care where he is?"
Another officer stepped forward, his tone cold. "Sir, we have real work to do. If your son skipped duty, that's his problem. Now leave before we escort you out."
Mahmoud's fists clenched, but he knew arguing was pointless. Defeated, he turned and walked out, his heart pounding with dread.
---
Amani let out a choked sob when her husband returned empty-handed. Her elderly mother and sisters surrounded her, rubbing her back and murmuring reassurances.
"He'll come home, habibti," her mother whispered, though her own voice wavered.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Omar and Hasan stood at the threshold, their faces grim.
"Auntie, Uncle… we came as soon as we heard," Omar said softly.
Hasan stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "Was there anything strange lately? Did Maher seem… different?"
Anani wiped her tears. "He's been coming home late for months. Sometimes he wouldn't come home at all for a night or two. But never like this—never a whole week!"
Mahmoud's hands shook.
"He was hiding something. And now… now he's gone."
Omar exchanged a worried glance with Hasan before speaking carefully. "We'll help look for him. We'll find him."
But as the room fell into heavy silence, the unspoken fear lingered—
what if they were already too late?
___
The cold concrete walls of the cell echoed with the distant sounds of the station—muffled voices, clanging metal, the occasional bark of orders. Maher sat slumped against the wall, his arms resting on his knees, while Ameer paced in short, restless strides.
After a long silence, Ameer sighed and turned to him. "You mind if I sing something? Just to pass the time."
Maher glanced up, shrugged. "Don't mind either way."
Ameer leaned against the bars, took a breath, and began singing softly—a folk song about freedom fighters. His voice was rough but warm, carrying the weight of longing.
"Goodbye my old friend,
I'll remember you when I see the sunrise.
I'll think about you when I fight on the other side.
The smell of my blood drain,
Has been washed away by the rain.
I refuse to fall, before I take them with me all.
I refuse to stop the fight,
Before I remove them out of our sight.
Goodbye my old friend,
Remember me in your dua.
Pray for my soul.
That I have finally answered shahada's call.
So promise me you won't forget me in your dua.
Pray for my soul to rest in peace.
Don't cry over my wounds, please."
To his surprise, Maher joined in on the second verse, his deeper voice harmonizing with Ameer's. The song filled the cell, their voices weaving together until the last note faded into silence.
Ameer stared at him, eyebrows raised. "I didn't know you could sing. And here I thought you were just a gloomy, grim-faced bastard who never smiled, let alone expressed himself."
Maher huffed, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "When I was young, I used to write songs. Played the oud, too. Even performed for my family sometimes."
Ameer blinked. "Seriously? You?"
Maher's expression darkened slightly. "My father made me stop. Said music was for soft people. he wanted me to train in sports and martial arts—anything to toughen me up. He thought he was doing the right thing for my future."
Ameer exhaled, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah. I get that. I never wanted to be a cop, you know? But the government saw I had a strong build, and they just decided that for me. It never mattered what we wanted."
Maher studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Guess we're both here because someone else decided who we should be."
Ameer smirked. "And now we're in a cell together. Life's funny like that."
Maher let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. Hilarious."
For the first time in days, the weight in the air felt a little lighter.
____
The narrow alleyways of the city were shrouded in shadows as Omar hurried through them, his heart pounding with urgency. He reached a small, unassuming house and knocked twice, then paused before adding a third, quieter rap—a signal known only to those trusted.
The door creaked open, revealing Abo Bilal's weathered face, his sharp eyes assessing Omar in an instant.
Omar: " Abo Bilal, I need your help—desperately."
Abo Bilal stepped aside, allowing him in before shutting the door firmly behind them. The dim light of a single lantern flickered across the sparse room as Omar struggled to steady his voice.
Omar: "It's my friend… he's missing. No one knows where he is. I fear the worst."
Abo Bilal exhaled slowly, rubbing his beard in thought. "You think they took him?"
Omar (nodding): "I'm sure he doesn't know anything about me, but I'm afraid someone has been watching me, if someone found out about me maybe they took him to provoke me."
Abo Bilal's expression darkened. "I'll see what I can find. But I doubt it's true that he's been arrested because of you, if they know about you they would have killed you immediately or taken you for investigation, the fact that you're here is enough proof."
Relief flickered in Omar's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by another pressing concern.
Omar: "When will we declare the revolution? People are waiting, but we can't hold them back forever."
Abo Bilal's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Very soon. The others are doing their part—gathering weapons, spreading the word. When the time is right, we'll move immediately."
Omar while leaning forward said "And you're sure everything is in place?"
Abo Bilal : "As sure as we can be. Revolutions aren't built on certainty—they're built on courage." He placed a firm hand on Omar's shoulder. "Find your friend. Then be ready. The moment is coming."
Omar nodded, determination hardening his features. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it—for his friend, and for the revolution.