Sahara Quinn wiped sweat from her brow with a dusty forearm, leaving a smudge of dirt across her sun-kissed skin. The Greek summer sun beat down mercilessly on the archaeological dig site, but Sahara barely noticed. Her attention was fixed on the curious anomaly in the monastery's foundation wall—a section that, according to her ground-penetrating radar, shouldn't be solid stone.

"Hand me the small pick, Dimitri," she said, extending her hand without looking up.

Dimitri's eyes lingered on Sahara's figure as she bent over the wall, the curve of her ass perfectly outlined by her cargo pants. He had been lusting after her since the moment she arrived, her lithe, athletic build, and firm breasts testing his self-control. Today, she wore a tight-fitting white crop top that accentuated her cleavage and toned midriff, leaving little to the imagination. Her sun-kissed skin glowed under the relentless Greek sun, smooth and warm to the touch. Dimitri couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to run his hands over every inch of her body. Her ass was tight and round, often drawing attention from every man on the site. He shifted uncomfortably in his trousers, trying to focus on the task at hand, but his thoughts kept returning to her.

He finally placed the tool in her palm. "Sahara, we've been at this section for three days. Perhaps we should move to another area of the⁠—"

"There's something here," Sahara interrupted, her voice carrying the quiet certainty that had become her trademark in the field. "The radar doesn't lie. This section is different."

She tapped the wall gently with the pick, listening to the subtle changes in sound as the metal struck stone. Most people wouldn't notice the difference, but to Sahara's trained ear, it was as obvious as a shout in a library. Hollow. There was definitely a space behind this section of wall.

At twenty-four, Dr. Sahara Quinn was younger than most field directors, but her reputation for finding what others missed had earned her the respect of colleagues twice her age. Her PhD dissertation on “Erotic Rituals in Ancient Mesopotamia: A Reexamination of Ishtar’s Temple” had been published in the Journal of Archaeological Science—a rare honor for a doctoral candidate—and had led directly to this grant to investigate the 12th-century monastery built atop much older ruins. At publication it had caused quite a stir in academic circles, not just for its groundbreaking insights but also for its highly sexual nature. Some reviewers had even remarked that it read more like a porn novel than a scholarly work. The vivid descriptions of ancient erotic practices and the explicit interpretations of Ishtar’s rituals had pushed boundaries, making her both admired and controversial in the academic world.

She worked methodically, carefully removing mortar from between the stones, her movements precise and economical. Her cargo pants and fitted white tank top were covered in the fine dust that permeated everything at the dig site, but she remained focused on the task at hand, oblivious to her appearance.

"Dr. Quinn," called a voice from the monastery entrance. "The director of antiquities is here for the weekly inspection."

Sahara suppressed a sigh. Nikolaos Papadakis was a bureaucrat first and an archaeologist second—more concerned with paperwork than discovery. "Tell him I'll be right there."

She handed the pick back to Dimitri. "Keep working on this section. Carefully. I think we're close."

Dimitri nodded, taking her place as she stood and brushed ineffectually at the dust covering her clothes. She pulled a bottle of water from her pack, took a long drink, and headed toward the monastery's main entrance where Papadakis would be waiting, no doubt with a clipboard full of forms requiring her signature.

She wetted the gap between her breasts with the bottle of water, knowing it wouldn’t hurt to expand her femininity a bit to speed up Papadakis’s signing off. The sun heated the golden sundisks permanently attached to her breasts, a remnant of the trials she had endured in the Temple of Ishtar the year before. The disks kept her nipples permanently erect, a constant reminder of that ordeal and a pain in the ass to explain at airport security. The cool water trickling down her cleavage offered a brief respite from the heat, but the weight of the sundisks was a persistent, unyielding presence.

As she walked through the cool, stone corridors of the monastery, Sahara's mind remained on the anomalous wall section. After three weeks of methodical excavation and documentation, this was the first truly exciting development. The monastery's known history was fascinating enough—built in the 12th century, occupied continuously until the late 19th century, then abandoned until its recent designation as a historical site. But Sahara was convinced that beneath the medieval Christian structure lay something far older and more significant.

Papadakis stood in the courtyard, impeccably dressed despite the heat, not a drop of sweat visible on his forehead. His assistant hovered nearby, clutching the expected clipboard.

Papadakis looked her body over as she approached, his gaze lingering on her wet crop top clinging to her curves and the golden sundisks glinting in the sunlight. His lips parted slightly, but he quickly composed himself, offering a curt nod. "Ms. Quinn," he greeted her with a thin smile. "I trust the excavation proceeds according to schedule?"

"We're making good progress," Sahara replied, offering her hand, which he shook briefly. "In fact, we may have located an anomaly in the foundation wall of the eastern chamber."

Papadakis raised an eyebrow. "An anomaly? Not mentioned in your approved excavation plan, I believe."

"That's how discoveries work, Mr. Papadakis. We follow the evidence, even when it leads in unexpected directions."

His lips tightened slightly. "Just ensure all proper protocols are followed. Any deviation from approved methodologies requires additional paperwork and approval from my office."

"Of course," Sahara said, maintaining her professional demeanor despite her growing impatience. "Would you like to see our current work?"

Before he could answer, a shout echoed from the eastern chamber. "Sahara! Come quickly!"

Sahara's heart leapt. "Excuse me," she said to Papadakis, already turning away. "It seems we may have something."

She moved quickly through the monastery, Papadakis and his assistant hurrying behind her. When she reached the eastern chamber, she found Dimitri standing before the wall section, his eyes wide with excitement.

"It moved," he said simply, pointing to a stone block that now protruded slightly from the otherwise flat wall.

Sahara approached carefully, examining the protruding stone. It was smaller than the surrounding blocks and featured a faintly visible carving—a circular design that had been nearly obliterated by centuries of wear.

"A pivot stone," she murmured, running her fingers over the ancient carving. "Part of a hidden mechanism."

Papadakis pushed forward. "What is this? You did not mention hidden chambers in your proposal."

"Because we didn't know they existed until now," Sahara replied, her attention fixed on the stone. She pressed gently, feeling resistance, then applied slightly more pressure. With a grinding sound that raised goosebumps on her arms, the stone slid inward, and a section of the wall—approximately one meter wide and two meters high—recessed and then slid to the side, revealing darkness beyond.

The air that wafted from the opening was cool and stale, undisturbed for centuries. Sahara reached for her pack and extracted a powerful LED flashlight. Before Papadakis could protest, she directed the beam into the darkness.

The light revealed a small chamber, perhaps three meters square, its walls covered in faded frescoes. But it was what lay at the center of the room that caused Sahara's breath to catch in her throat. On a simple stone pedestal sat an object wrapped in deteriorating cloth.

"Remarkable," whispered Dimitri, peering over her shoulder. "A sealed chamber, untouched since the monastery's construction."

"Perhaps even earlier," Sahara said, her trained eye noting the architectural style of the hidden room, which appeared inconsistent with the 12th-century monastery. "This chamber may predate the monastery itself."

Papadakis cleared his throat. "No one is to enter this chamber until it has been properly documented and a revised excavation plan approved. I must contact Athens immediately."

For once, Sahara didn't mind the bureaucracy. A discovery of this magnitude deserved careful documentation. "Of course. We'll set up lights and begin photographic documentation from the doorway."

As Papadakis stepped away to make his call, Dimitri leaned closer to Sahara. "What do you think it is? The object on the pedestal?"

Sahara shook her head, her eyes never leaving the wrapped bundle. "I don't know. But someone went to extraordinary lengths to hide it." She felt a familiar thrill course through her—the rush that came with standing on the precipice of discovery, of being the first person in centuries to uncover a long-buried secret.

Little did she know that the object in that hidden chamber would lead her on a journey far beyond the stone walls of the ancient monastery—a journey that would reunite her with her former mentor and lover, bring a brilliant linguist into her life, and ultimately force her to question everything she thought she knew about the origins of Western religion.

As the team began setting up equipment to document the chamber, Sahara's phone vibrated in her pocket. She stepped away to check the message, expecting it to be from the university. Instead, she found herself staring at a familiar name: Elias Kane, her former mentor and current lover. The message was brief: "Heard rumors about your discovery in Greece. Call me. It may be connected to something I found years ago."

Sahara felt a complex mix of emotions surge through her—irritation that news had already leaked and curiosity about the connection Elias mentioned. She slipped the phone back into her pocket without responding. Whatever Elias wanted, it had to wait. Right now, the mystery in front of her demanded her full attention.

She turned back to the hidden chamber, her flashlight illuminating the ancient frescoes and the mysterious object that had waited patiently in darkness for someone to discover its secrets. Someone like her.

The climate-controlled laboratory was a stark contrast to the dusty excavation site. Sahara stood before a large examination table where the wrapped object from the hidden chamber now rested, surrounded by an array of specialized equipment. After three days of careful documentation, environmental testing, and negotiations with the Greek authorities, she finally had permission to unwrap the mysterious find.

Dr. Nikolaos Papadakis hovered nearby, his clipboard replaced by a tablet on which he recorded every step of the process. Two university conservators stood ready to assist, their gloved hands poised to intervene if necessary.

"Proceeding with the removal of the outer wrapping," Sahara announced for the recording, her voice steady despite the excitement coursing through her. She wore nitrile gloves and used a set of micro-tools designed for conservation work.

The fabric was deteriorating but still largely intact—a linen cloth that had been treated with some kind of resin, which had helped preserve it through the centuries. Sahara worked methodically, her movements precise and unhurried. Years of fieldwork had taught her that impatience was the enemy of archaeology.

As she carefully lifted the final fold of fabric, the room fell silent. Revealed on the table was a leather-bound manuscript, its cover darkened with age but remarkably well-preserved.

"Preliminary assessment suggests a codex," Sahara said, leaning closer to examine the binding. "The construction style is consistent with late Roman or early Byzantine bookmaking techniques."

She gently opened the cover, revealing the first page. The text was handwritten in what appeared to be ancient Greek, with unusual symbols interspersed throughout. But what caught her attention immediately were the illustrations—detailed drawings of plants, astronomical configurations, and human figures in various poses of what appeared to be religious ecstasy.

"This is..." she began, then paused, searching for the right words. "This is unlike any early Christian manuscript I've ever seen."

One of the conservators leaned forward. "Those symbols—they're not standard Greek letters."

"No," Sahara agreed. "Some appear to be a form of symbolic notation. Possibly a code or specialized terminology." She carefully turned to the next page, where a larger illustration depicted a group of robed figures standing in a circle around an altar. Above them, a dome showed stars in a specific configuration.

Papadakis cleared his throat. "We should proceed with full photographic documentation before further handling. And I believe we need to bring in a paleography expert."

Sahara nodded, though her mind was already racing ahead. The manuscript was clearly significant—potentially revolutionary if her initial assessment was correct. This wasn't a standard religious text from the early Christian era. The imagery, the symbols, the entire presentation suggested something else entirely—a mystery cult, perhaps, or some form of religious practice that had been lost to history.

"I know someone," she said, straightening up. "An archeologist specializing in ancient languages and symbolic systems. Dr. Layla Hassan at Oxford. She's done groundbreaking work on coded languages in religious texts."

Sahara paused, her mind flickering to the more personal reasons she wanted Layla involved. It wasn’t just about Layla’s expertise—though that was undeniable. It was about the connection they shared, the bond that had formed between them over late-night research sessions and shared discoveries.

Her thoughts drifted back to a month ago, in their shared apartment in Oxford, just before she left for Greece. It had been her first solo project, and both Elias and Layla had been there to see her off. The memory played in her mind like a vivid dream: Elias’s hands gripping her hips as he fucked her hard from behind, his cock driving deep into her pussy, while Layla knelt between her legs, her tongue working in perfect rhythm with Elias’s thrusts. Sahara had been consumed by them, their hands, mouths, and bodies merging into a single, overwhelming force. Layla’s tongue had coaxed her to the edge, and as Sahara came, crying out in ecstasy, Layla had licked her clean, sharing the taste of her arousal with Sahara in a kiss that left her head spinning. The memory was hazy now, but the warmth of that connection, that intimacy, lingered.

Through the haze of that recollection, she heard Papadakis’s voice again: "Your recommendation will be considered." He spoke stiffly, his bureaucratic tone cutting through the vividness of her memory. "The Ministry will make the final decision on additional consultants."

Sahara bit back a retort. This wasn't the time to antagonize the bureaucrat, not when the discovery was still so fresh and permissions could be revoked. Instead, she focused on the manuscript, directing the photography team to capture high-resolution images of each page as they carefully turned them. "Of course," she said, her voice steady despite the lingering heat of the memory. "But I hope you’ll give her credentials serious consideration. This discovery could change everything we know about the ancient world, and Dr. Hassan is the best person to help us unlock its secrets."

Three hours later, with the initial documentation complete and the manuscript secured in a climate-controlled storage unit, Sahara finally left the laboratory. The sun was setting over Athens, painting the ancient city in hues of gold and amber. She found a quiet bench on the university grounds and pulled out her phone.

The message from Elias Kane still sat unanswered. She stared at it for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the screen. How had he already heard about her discovery? With a decisive tap, she initiated the call. He answered on the second ring.

"Sahara." His voice was exactly as she remembered it—deep, resonant, with that slight British accent that had always made even his lectures on pottery fragments somehow enthralling.

"Elias," she replied, keeping her tone neutral in case someone was listening. "I got your message."

"Thank you for calling back." A pause. "I’ve heard rumors about what you found at Agios Nikolaos. A hidden chamber with a manuscript?"

Sahara frowned. News traveled fast in archaeological circles, but this was unusually quick. "How did you hear about that? We’ve only just completed the initial documentation."

"Papadakis has a nephew who works in my department. The young man is rather indiscreet." There was a smile in his voice. "But more importantly, I think I may have encountered references to what you’ve found."

Despite her reservations, Sahara’s curiosity was piqued. "What do you mean?"

"Twenty years ago, I was working on a Byzantine site in northern Greece. We found fragments of a text that referred to a 'book of the nameless faith' hidden by early monks to protect it from destruction. The fragments described a secret doctrine involving direct communion with the divine through ritual means."

Sahara’s pulse quickened. "The manuscript we found contains unusual imagery—people in what appears to be religious ecstasy, plants that might be psychoactive, astronomical alignments."

"Exactly as the fragments described," Elias said, his excitement evident even through the phone. "Sahara, this could be the actual text that was only hinted at in the fragments I found. A complete manuscript would be unprecedented."

She hesitated, torn between professional excitement and personal desire. "What are you suggesting?"

"I’d like to see it. To see you," he said, his voice soft and inviting. "To collaborate on this, if you’re willing. My expertise in Byzantine religious practices, combined with your fresh discovery..." He trailed off, leaving the potential unspoken.

Sahara gazed across the university grounds, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. She’d love to see Elias again—God, she could use his cock and his mouth on her pussy, his hands on her body, the way he knew exactly how to make her come apart. But this was her first solo dig. She needed to develop academically, to prove herself without leaning on his experience or reputation. Still, his knowledge could be invaluable, and the connection he’d mentioned might unlock secrets they’d been chasing for years. 

"I’ll think about it," she said finally, her voice steady but not cold. "This is my project, though, Elias. My terms."

"Of course," he replied, his tone understanding. "I’m not here to step on your toes. But if you need me—if this connects to what I found—I’m here. For the manuscript, and for you."

She nodded slowly, though she knew he couldn’t see it. "I'll need to clear it with the Greek authorities," she said finally. "And I also want to bring Layla in. Her expertise in symbolic languages would be essential for deciphering the unusual notations in the text."

"I'll speak to Papadakis tomorrow. If he agrees, perhaps by the end of the week." Sahara stood, suddenly restless. "I should go, Elias. It's been a long day."

"Of course," he replied, his voice softening in a way that made her chest tighten. "And Sahara… I do miss you. Your voice, your laugh, your body—everything. But I understand if you want to go this alone. It’s your project, your chance to shine. Just know I’m here if you need me—professionally, or otherwise."

As she walked back to her small temporary room near the university, Sahara's mind returned to the manuscript. Something about those images, the strange symbols, the entire hidden context of the find suggested she was on the verge of a discovery that could challenge conventional understanding of early religious practices. And if Elias was right about the connection to his earlier find, this could be even more significant than she initially thought.

Back in her room, Sahara opened her laptop and typed an email to Dr. Layla Hassan, attaching a few of the least sensitive images from the manuscript. Layla wasn’t just a brilliant scientist—she was also her lover, her partner in both work and passion. Sahara smiled slightly as she remembered their encounter the night before she left, Layla’s fingers expertly finding her G-spot, bringing her to a shattering, wet orgasm that left her trembling and breathless. She reached for her phone and texted Layla quickly: "Just sent you something big. Call me when you see it." 

As she hit send, Sahara couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when Layla and Elias were working on a mystery again. The three of them had a connection that went beyond academia—a bond forged in late-night research sessions, daredevil adventures, and the kind of intimacy that left her breathless. Elias was intense, commanding, his expertise as undeniable as his touch. Layla was sharp, methodical, her mind as quick as her tongue. And Sahara—she was the bridge between them, the one who kept their passions in balance.

Her mind wandered back to the manuscript—its secrets preserved for nearly two millennia, waiting for someone to unlock them. Its mysteries would hold for a few more days. And Sahara? She’d figure out the rest as she went.

Dr. Layla Hassan's office was a study in organized chaos. Books towered in precarious stacks on every surface, manuscripts and papers were arranged in a system comprehensible only to her, and three computer monitors displayed different ancient texts in various stages of analysis. Yet despite the apparent disorder, Layla could locate any reference, any book, any note within seconds—a fact that continually amazed her students and frustrated her colleagues who tried to borrow materials.

Layla was halfway through reviewing a student’s dissertation on Coptic influence in early Arabic texts when her phone buzzed with Sahara’s text: "Just sent you something big. Call me when you see it." A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Sahara never texted her with anything less than intrigue, and she knew better than to ignore it. Moments later, the email notification popped up on her screen.

The email was brief—Sahara’s usual style—mentioning a discovery at a Greek monastery and asking for her help with some unusual symbols in an ancient manuscript. This could be huge, she thought, her mind already racing ahead, piecing together what she knew about similar finds, about codes and symbols, about Sahara’s sharp instincts. And, if she was being honest, she thought about Sahara herself—her hands, her mouth, the way she laughed when Layla teased her.

"Fascinating," she murmured, enlarging one of the images that showed a page of Greek text interspersed with unusual symbols. She recognized the Greek immediately—a dialect from the 2nd century CE—but the symbols were something else entirely. Some resembled astronomical notations, others appeared to be a form of shorthand for complex concepts, and still others seemed completely unique.

She quickly scanned the other images, her excitement growing. One showed an illustration of what appeared to be a ritual scene, with figures arranged in a circle around an altar. The composition was chaotic yet deliberate, bodies entwined in a feverish, almost sacred union. A man knelt at the edge of the circle, his head bowed between a woman’s thighs, her back arched in ecstasy as her fingers gripped his hair. Another couple was locked in fervent copulation, the man driving into her with raw intensity, their faces pressed together in shared pleasure. Nearby, two men were engaged in an intimate act, one kneeling behind the other, their bodies moving in rhythm, their expressions a mix of intensity and abandon. Near the altar, a group of figures seemed to be engaged in a collective act, hands and mouths exploring one another in a tangle of limbs and skin—a woman straddling a man while another woman leaned in to kiss her, a man’s hand reaching out to cup her breast.

But this wasn’t just about sex. There was something more here, something transcendent. The figures weren’t merely bodies caught in the throes of passion; they were vessels, conduits for something far greater. Their expressions weren’t just of pleasure but of ecstasy, a kind of divine rapture. Their movements seemed ritualistic, almost choreographed, as if this union of flesh was a gateway to a higher plane. The energy of the scene was electric, almost palpable even through the centuries-old image. The artist had captured every detail—the curve of a spine, the tension in a thigh, the way fingers clenched and bodies pressed together in desperation. The eroticism leaped off the page, but it was laced with something sacred, something otherworldly.

Above them was a domed ceiling depicting a star pattern that Layla immediately recognized as the night sky over Greece during the spring equinox, circa 150-200 CE. The celestial design seemed to mirror the act below, as though the ritual was meant to connect the earthly with the divine. Layla’s heart raced as she took it all in. "This is no ordinary religious text," she said to the empty office, already mentally rearranging her schedule. The manuscript represented exactly the kind of challenge she lived for—a complex linguistic puzzle with potential historical significance.

She typed a reply to Sahara, accepting the invitation—in principle—and indicating she could be in Athens within three days if the Ministry approved her involvement. As she was about to send it, a line in Sahara’s email caught her attention: "Elias, who may have discovered related fragments years ago, was also hoping to join—pending Ministry approval."

Layla’s fingers paused over the keyboard. It had only been a couple of weeks since the three of them had been together, tangled in sheets, their passion as fierce as their debates. Elias’s cock, Sahara’s hands, the way they moved together—it was all still fresh in her mind. But their dynamic wasn’t just physical. Professionally, Elias’s old-school, methodical approach often clashed with her more unconventional methods. He’d once publicly questioned her conclusions about symbolic communication in Eleusinian mystery cults, calling her interpretations "speculative at best." It had stung, but the tension between them only seemed to fuel their connection.

She finished her reply, adding that she looked forward to seeing Sahara and Elias, though she stopped short of saying she’d already booked her flight. Then she sent it off and turned to her bookshelf, pulling down several reference works on Greek mystery cults, early Christian symbolism, and coded languages in ancient texts. If this was going to happen—and she hoped it would—she’d be ready.

Three days later, her participation approved by the Greek Ministry of Archeology, Layla stepped off the plane at Athens International Airport, a leather messenger bag slung across her body and a small carry-on rolling behind her. Despite the long flight from London, she felt energized, her mind already working on the puzzle presented by the manuscript.

She spotted Sahara immediately in the arrival hall—the young archaeologist's distinctive profile was unmistakable, her posture conveying both confidence and alertness. Sahara was dressed casually in cargo pants as always and a light blouse, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, yet she carried herself with a natural grace that drew the eye.

"Dr. Hassan," Sahara called, moving forward with an extended hand. Her tone was polite, professional, and carefully measured. She had decided to keep things formal for now, especially with their Ministry liaison, Dr. Papadakis, trailing nearby. Papadakis wasn’t aware that she and Layla were lovers—or that Elias was, for that matter—and Sahara intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. The Ministry’s involvement made discretion necessary, even if it meant hiding the warmth she normally shared with Layla beneath a veneer of professionalism.

"Layla, please," she replied, taking the offered hand. Sahara’s grip was firm, her palm slightly calloused from fieldwork. "And I wouldn't have missed this opportunity. Your discovery is potentially groundbreaking."

A smile lit Sahara's face, transforming her from merely attractive to striking. "I'm glad you think so. The Greek authorities needed some convincing to allow outside consultants, but the unusual nature of the text made a strong case for bringing in specialists." It hadn’t been an easy decision to recommend Elias and Layla—both for her career and for their personal dynamic. In the end, though, Elias’s expertise with similar symbols had overridden her desire to make her mark on archaeology alone. And, if she was being honest, she couldn’t wait for the three of them to be together in bed again. Their last encounter had been electric, and the thought of it still sent a shiver down her spine.

As they walked toward the exit, Layla asked, "Has Elias arrived yet?"

"Yesterday," Sahara confirmed, a slight shift in her tone catching Layla's attention. "He's already reviewed the manuscript and has some... theories." The subtle emphasis on the word “theories” was enough to convey that Elias was, as usual, confident in his interpretations—and that the sparks between him, Sahara and Layla were likely to fly, both in the lab and in the bedroom. But Sahara wasn’t worried. She thrived on the tension, the passion, the way the three of them pushed each other to greater heights. And she was eager to see where this project would take them—both academically and personally.

"You don't sound convinced by these theories", Layla said.

Sahara glanced at her as they reached the car, a rental sedan parked in the short-term lot. "Elias is brilliant, but sometimes he sees what he expects to see. I wanted a fresh perspective before we proceed further." She paused, her gaze holding Layla’s for a moment longer than necessary, the corner of her mouth curling into the faintest hint of a smile. "That’s why I need you."

The words were deliberate, layered with meaning. On the surface, she was talking about Layla’s sharp mind, her ability to see patterns and possibilities that others might miss. But beneath that, the undercurrent was unmistakable. Sahara needed Layla’s body too—the way her fingers could unravel knots in a manuscript just as easily as they could unravel Sahara herself. The memory of those fingers, warm and precise, lingered in Sahara’s thoughts—how they would circle her clit with just the right pressure, how they would dip into her folds, teasing her open before sliding inside, slow and deliberate. The way Layla could make her breath catch, her body tremble, her mind dissolve into nothing but sensation. Sahara shifted slightly, her skin tingling at the memory, and she wasn’t above letting Layla see it in her eyes.

The drive from the airport to the University of Athens took them through the sprawling, vibrant city, ancient monuments rising incongruously amid modern buildings, the driver navigating the chaotic Athenian traffic while Sahara briefed Layla on the latest developments.

"The manuscript was found in a hidden chamber at the Monastery of Agios Nikolaos, about two hours from Athens. The monastery itself dates to the 12th century, but the chamber appears to be much older—possibly Roman era, incorporated into the later structure."

"And the text?" Layla asked. "Your email mentioned unusual symbolic notation."

"Yes. The main text is in ancient Greek, but interspersed throughout are symbols unlike anything I've seen in early Christian or Byzantine manuscripts. Some pages contain what appear to be formulas or recipes, with illustrations of plants and preparation methods."

"Recipes?" Layla's interest sharpened. "What kind of plants?"

Sahara glanced at her briefly before returning her attention to the road. "That's one of the questions we're hoping you can help answer. Some resemble known medicinal herbs, but others are more difficult to identify. The context suggests they were used in some kind of ritual preparation."

They arrived at the university and made their way to the archaeology department, where Sahara led Layla to a secure laboratory. After passing through two sets of security doors, they entered a climate-controlled room where the manuscript lay on an examination table, surrounded by specialized equipment.

And there, bent over the ancient text, was Elias.

He straightened as they entered, and Layla was struck again by his commanding presence. In his late fifties, Kane had the kind of distinguished good looks that seemed to improve with age—silver threading through his dark hair, lines of experience around his eyes that spoke of years squinting at ancient texts in desert sunlight. As always he wore a crisp button-down shirt.

"Dr. Hassan," he greeted her, his voice carrying that distinctive resonance she remembered from conference presentations. His tone was measured, polite, and thoroughly professional—a facade carefully maintained to keep their relationship hidden from prying eyes. The Ministry’s oversight meant discretion was essential, and Elias, like Sahara, was determined not to let their personal connection undermine the project. "Thank you for joining us," he said, his expression neutral but his eyes lingering on hers just a fraction longer than necessary. "Your expertise may prove invaluable."

"Dr. Kane," she replied with a professional nod, matching his tone and posture. Outwardly, they were colleagues, nothing more. But beneath the surface, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of intimacy, of shared nights and whispered promises. "I'm eager to see this remarkable find."

Elias stepped aside, gesturing to the manuscript. "Please, have a look. I believe you'll find it as fascinating as I do." His words stayed formal, but there was a faint undercurrent of something deeper, something that reminded her of the way he’d whispered her name in the dark. She forced herself to focus, to push those thoughts aside. After all, they had work to do—and so much more.

Layla approached the examination table, setting her bag aside and pulling on the nitrile gloves Sahara offered. The manuscript lay open to a page showing a circular diagram with Greek text spiraling outward from the center. Interspersed with the text were the symbols Sahara had mentioned—some resembling astronomical notations, others entirely unique.

"Extraordinary," Layla murmured, leaning closer. "The base text is Koine Greek, but with unusual dialectical variations. And these symbols..." She pointed to a recurring mark that resembled a stylized eye with rays emanating from it. "This appears multiple times, always in conjunction with descriptions of altered states."

"Altered states?" Sahara asked, moving to stand beside her.

"Yes. This passage describes what we might today call a transcendent experience—the dissolution of normal perception and a sense of unity with the divine." Layla traced the text with a gloved finger. "The language is remarkably precise for describing something so subjective."

Kane cleared his throat. "I believe the text represents an early Christian mystical tradition, possibly influenced by Gnostic practices. The symbols could be a form of shorthand for complex theological concepts."

Layla considered this, then shook her head slightly. "With respect, Dr. Kane, I don't think this is a Christian text at all—at least not primarily. The structure and terminology have more in common with mystery cult writings than with early Christian documents."

"Mystery cults?" Sahara looked between them, her interest evident.

"Religious groups in the ancient Mediterranean that practiced secret rituals and offered initiates direct experience of the divine," she explained, her voice low but steady. "The Eleusinian Mysteries are perhaps the best known, but there were many others. They typically involved staged ritual experiences, often facilitated by psychoactive substances—entheogens like kykeon, a sacramental brew believed to induce visions and altered states of consciousness."

She paused, her eyes scanning the text before continuing. "These rituals were deeply initiatory and ecstatic, shrouded in secrecy. Participants swore a vow of silence, safeguarding the mysteries from the uninitiated. The process was both physical and spiritual, a journey of transformation. Initiates underwent a series of purification rituals—fasting, bathing, and offerings—to prepare their bodies and minds for the sacred experience. The ceremonies themselves were often intense, designed to break down barriers between the self and the divine. In some instances, this culminated in orgiastic rites, where the union of bodies symbolized the merging of the mortal with the transcendent."

Layla’s voice softened as she read further, her tone almost reverent. "It was believed that through these acts, participants could access a higher plane of existence, experiencing a unity with the divine that was otherwise unattainable. The rituals were not merely about pleasure or indulgence, but about achieving a profound spiritual awakening. The bodies of the participants became conduits for the sacred, their ecstasy a reflection of the divine energy flowing through them."

Elias’s expression tightened slightly. "That's a rather speculative interpretation, Dr. Hassan. The text clearly contains references to concepts found in early Christianity."

"Because early Christianity absorbed elements from these mystery traditions," Layla countered, warming to the intellectual challenge. "This text may represent a transitional form—a bridge between older mystery practices and emerging Christian theology."

Sahara was watching them both, her eyes bright with interest. "Could you both be right? Could this be a text from a group that existed at the intersection of mystery cult practices and early Christian beliefs?"

Layla and Kane exchanged a look—a moment of reluctant recognition that Sahara's suggestion had merit.

"It's possible," Layla conceded. "Religious boundaries were more fluid in the ancient world than we sometimes acknowledge."

"Indeed," Kane agreed, though his tone suggested the concession cost him something. "The second and third centuries were a period of remarkable religious syncretism."

Sahara nodded, seemingly satisfied with this temporary truce. "Then our next step is clear. We need to fully translate the text and identify these symbols. Dr. Hassan, would you be willing to lead that effort, with Dr. Kane providing historical context from his work on related fragments?"

"I would be happy to," Layla said. "Though I'll need high-resolution images of every page, and access to the manuscript itself for direct examination."

"Of course," Sahara assured her. "We have a workstation set up for you, with all the necessary equipment. And accommodation has been arranged at the university guest house for the duration of your stay."

The day stretched into evening, the glow of sunset fading as they pored over the manuscript, their voices low and focused. Layla’s certainty grew with each passing hour: this text was monumental, and working with Sahara and Elias was going to be far more than academic. When they finally decided to call it a night, Sahara led them both to the University Guesthouse, her steps quick with barely concealed anticipation.

The rooms were simple but comfortable, and Layla noticed immediately that Sahara had booked them side by side, with interconnecting doors. As they stepped inside Sahara’s room, the tension that had been simmering all day finally broke. Sahara turned to Layla, her eyes dark with desire, and closed the distance between them in a single step. “If I had to call you ‘Dr. Hassan’ one more time,” she murmured, her voice husky, “I would’ve gone crazy.” Her lips crashed against Layla’s, hungry and insistent, her hands cupping Layla’s face as she deepened the kiss.

Before Layla could even process the intensity of it, Sahara pulled away and turned to Elias, her fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. She kissed him with the same fervor, her body pressing against his as he groaned into her mouth. When she finally broke away, her chest rising and falling, she looked at both of them and grinned. “Now, get out of these clothes. We have some catching up to do.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Clothes were shed in a frenzy of hands and lips, the air thick with the sound of their breathing and the rustle of fabric hitting the floor. Layla found herself on the bed with Sahara, their bodies tangling as they moved into a 69, their mouths and tongues exploring each other with a desperation that bordered on worship. Layla moaned softly as Sahara’s tongue found her clit, her own mouth working between Sahara’s thighs, tasting her, savoring her.

Elias knelt behind Layla, his hands gripping her hips as he slid into her, his cock filling her with a thrust that made her gasp. She arched her back, her lips never leaving Sahara’s pussy, her moans vibrating against her lover’s skin. Elias’s rhythm was relentless, each stroke driving her closer to the edge. “Fuck, Elias, just like that,” she panted, her voice breaking as he angled himself to hit that perfect spot. 

But Sahara wasn’t content to stay still. She twisted beneath Layla, reaching for Elias, her fingers curling around his arm to pull him closer. “Your turn,” she whispered, her voice raw with need. “I want you in me, now.” Elias didn’t hesitate, pulling out of Layla and positioning himself behind Sahara, his cock sliding into her with a groan that echoed through the room. Layla moved to the side, her fingers finding Sahara’s clit as she watched Elias fuck her, the sight of them together making her ache with want.

“Don’t stop,” Sahara gasped, her hips meeting Elias’s thrusts with equal fervor. “God, don’t stop. I’m so close.” Her words spurred Elias on, his pace becoming even more intense, his hands gripping her hips as he drove into her. Layla’s fingers worked in tandem, circling Sahara’s clit with practiced precision until Sahara cried out, her body shuddering as she came.

But Elias wasn’t done. He pulled out of Sahara and turned to Layla, his eyes blazing with desire. “On all fours,” he commanded, his voice rough. Layla obeyed without hesitation, moving onto the bed beside Sahara, who mirrored her position. Elias moved between them, alternating between their asses, his cock sliding into one and then the other, each thrust earning a moan of pleasure. Sahara and Layla’s eyes met, their hands intertwining as they shared the sensation, their bodies moving in unison with Elias’s rhythm.

When Elias finally pulled out again, his breath ragged, Layla didn’t wait for instructions. She got up and gently guided him to Sahara, her voice soft but insistent. “Her pussy,” she said, her hand wrapping around his cock to guide him. “She needs you there.” Elias nodded, his eyes locked on Sahara’s as he positioned himself at her entrance. Layla leaned in, her tongue flicking over the head of his cock, tasting them both before helping him slide into Sahara’s pussy. 

The sound Sahara made was pure ecstasy, her back arching as Elias thrust into her, their connection deep and primal. Layla watched, her own body tingling with need, as Elias’s rhythm became erratic, his climax building. “Come inside her,” Layla whispered, her voice a mix of command and encouragement. With a growl, Elias obeyed, his body stiffening as he came, his release spilling into Sahara as she moaned his name, her own orgasm cresting in tandem.

For a moment, the room was still, the only sound their heavy breathing as they lay tangled together, spent but sated. Layla smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against Sahara’s arm, her eyes meeting Elias’s across the bed. This was more than just a reunion—it was a rekindling, a reminder of what they shared beyond the work.

The first faint rays of dawn had yet to break the horizon as Sahara stirred, her body heavy and sated from the night before. The room was still cloaked in a dim, pre-dawn gray, the silence broken only by the soft, steady breathing of Elias and Layla, who lay tangled together in sleep. Carefully, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet padding silently across the cool floor. The air smelled of sex and sweat, a heady reminder of the intimacy they’d shared.

She stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and turning on the shower. The water was scalding, just the way she liked it, and she let it cascade over her skin, washing away the sticky remnants of semen and sweat that clung to her. Leaning against the tiles, she exhaled slowly, replaying the night’s intensity in her mind. It had been everything she’d needed—and more.

By the time she stepped out, the room was still dark, the first hints of sunrise only just beginning to creep through the blinds. She dressed quickly, slipping into clean clothes and tying her hair back in a loose bun. Without a backward glance at the sleeping figures in the bed, she left the guesthouse, the cool morning air sharp against her skin as she made her way to the lab.

The streets of Athens were eerily quiet at this hour, the city suspended in that liminal space between night and day. Sahara walked briskly, her breath visible in the cool air, her mind already shifting to the manuscript. The lab was empty when she arrived, the familiar scent of aged parchment and dust filling her senses as she flipped on the lights. The manuscript lay on the table, its ancient pages waiting to be unraveled.

She took a seat, her fingers tracing the edges of the parchment as she turned to a particular illustration—a detailed rendering of what appeared to be a ritual preparation involving several plants combined in a specific sequence. Her brow furrowed as she leaned closer, her eyes scanning the faint annotations surrounding the image.

The sound of the door opening broke the silence, and Sahara looked up to see Elias stepping inside, two coffee cups in hand. He looked as composed as ever, his shirt crisp, his expression calm, but there was a faint shadow of fatigue beneath his eyes—a reminder of the night they’d shared. “I thought you might be here already,” he said, his voice low but warm. He handed her one of the cups.

Sahara accepted the coffee with a nod of thanks. It was a small gesture, but one that revealed how well he remembered her habits. "Old archaeological instincts. The best light for examination is always in the morning."

Elias moved to stand beside her, his familiar scent—a mixture of sandalwood cologne and old books—washing over her like a wave. It brought back memories of her first days at Oxford, when she’d been a fresh-faced archaeology student, wide-eyed and eager to prove herself. He’d been her mentor then, his reputation as one of the brightest minds in the field already well-established. Even then, there had been something magnetic about him—the way he spoke with such authority, the way his eyes lit up when discussing ancient texts, the way he’d always seemed to look at her as though she were more than just another student.

“What section are you reviewing?” he asked now, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

"This illustration of the preparation ritual," she replied, keeping her tone professional. "The detail is remarkable for a text this old. Look at the precision in the plant renderings—the artist clearly had firsthand knowledge of these species."

Elias leaned closer, his shoulder nearly touching hers. "Indeed. And the sequence is explicitly marked with these numerical symbols." He pointed to small notations beside each plant. "The order of combination appears to be crucial to the ritual."

"Which supports Layla’s theory about this being a practical guide rather than purely theological text," Sahara observed.

A slight tightening around Elias's eyes was the only indication of his reaction. "Layla is brilliant, certainly, but her interpretations tend toward the sensational. Mystery cults and psychoactive rituals make for exciting conference presentations, but the historical evidence requires more... restraint."

Sahara took a sip of her coffee, using the moment to choose her words carefully. "I've found that the most significant discoveries often lie at the intersection of competing interpretations. Your expertise in early Christian texts and her knowledge of symbolic languages give us complementary perspectives."

Elias studied her face, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Always in the middle, Sahara. It's one of your more admirable qualities." He paused, then added in a lower tone, "Among many."

Before she could respond, the laboratory door opened again, and Layla entered. She wore a simple linen blouse and tailored pants, her dark hair pulled back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Despite the early hour, she looked alert and focused, a leather portfolio tucked under one arm.

Layla’s arrival broke the quiet intensity of the room, her footsteps soft against the tiled floor. "Good morning," she greeted them, her eyes taking in their proximity with a quick, assessing glance. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," Sahara replied smoothly, stepping back slightly from Elias, though her tone carried just a hint of sarcasm. "We were just discussing the illustrated preparation sequence. You know how passionate he gets about details."

The corner of Layla’s mouth twitched, her sharp mind catching the double entendre immediately. “I’m well aware,” she said dryly, setting her bag down on the table. “Though I imagine morning preparations are a bit different from the nighttime rituals you two are accustomed to.”

Elias raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-wary. “Careful, Dr. Hassan. That wit of yours might get you into trouble.”

Sahara smirked, leaning casually against the table. “Oh, I think we’re all well past careful at this point,” she said, her voice dripping with innuendo. Layla couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her, though she quickly stifled it with a cough. “Right. The manuscript.” She glanced at the page they’d been studying, her expression shifting to one of genuine interest. “What have you found so far?”

Sahara gestured to the illustration, her tone shifting to professional but still laced with that playful edge. “We were just speculating about the plants used in this preparation sequence,” she said. “It’s a fascinating mix—possibly kykeon ingredients, though I’m sure Elias has other theories. He always does.”

Elias shot her a look, though there was no real irritation in it. “Kykeon is the most likely candidate,” he said, his tone measured but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Though I suppose we’ll need to dive deeper to be certain.”

“Deeper indeed,” Sahara murmured, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She turned back to Layla, her expression innocent. “What do you think, Dr. Hassan? Care to join us in unraveling the mystery?”

Layla folded her arms, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Oh, I think I can handle it. Though I hope you two have saved some of that passion for the academic discussion.”

Sahara’s laugh was low and knowing. Then, without warning, Sahara pushed herself off the table and crossed to the door, peering out into the hallway to ensure they were still alone. Satisfied, she closed the door firmly and turned back to Elias, her eyes dark with intent. Without a word, she stepped up to him, her fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants down just enough to free his cock, already half-hard from the tension in the room.

She dropped to her knees, her mouth closing around him in one swift motion, her tongue swirling around the tip before she took him deeper. Elias groaned, his hand instinctively tangling in her hair as she worked him, her lips sliding up and down his length with practiced ease. Saliva pooled at the corners of her mouth, dripping down his shaft as she deep-throated him, her throat tightening around him in a way that made his knees buckle.

Layla watched from a few feet away, her arms still crossed, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. She didn’t join in, but she didn’t look away either, enjoying the sight of Sahara’s complete control over the moment.

Elias’s breathing grew ragged, his grip on Sahara’s hair tightening as he neared the edge. “Sahara—” he managed to rasp, his voice strained, but she didn’t slow down. Her hands gripped his thighs, holding him steady as she took him all the way, her throat working him until he came with a guttural groan, his release spilling down her throat in thick, pulsing waves.

She swallowed every drop, pulling back only when she was sure he was spent. With a wicked grin, she tucked him back into his pants and smoothed down his shirt, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She rose to her feet, her gaze flicking briefly to Elias before returning to the manuscript. “Now, let’s get to work,” she said, her voice calm and collected, as if nothing had happened. “Before someone distracts us again.”

Layla approached the examination table, setting her portfolio down and extracting several pages of notes. "I was working on that very section last night. The symbols beside each plant aren't just numerical indicators—they correspond to lunar phases."

Elias raised an eyebrow. "Lunar phases? That seems speculative."

"Not at all," Layla countered, spreading her notes on the adjacent table. "Look at this sequence of symbols compared to this chart of lunar progressions. The correlation is unmistakable. The text is indicating that certain plants should be harvested during specific lunar phases, then combined in a precise order."

Sahara moved to examine Layla's notes, impressed by the thoroughness of her analysis after just one evening with the text. "This adds another dimension to the ritual aspect. Not just which plants and how to combine them, but when to harvest them."

"Exactly," Layla said, her eyes bright with intellectual excitement. "Ancient pharmacology was inseparable from astronomical observation. The potency of certain plants was believed to vary with celestial cycles—a belief that modern research has sometimes validated, as certain alkaloid levels in plants do fluctuate with environmental factors."

Elias joined them, his academic curiosity evidently overcoming his initial skepticism. "If you're correct about the lunar correspondences, then this section here"—he pointed to a passage of Greek text—"takes on new meaning. It's not just describing a spiritual transformation but providing precise instructions for inducing one."

The three of them bent over the manuscript and Layla's notes, the dynamic between them shifting as their shared intellectual passion temporarily superseded personal tensions. For the next several hours, they worked in a productive flow, with Layla translating the symbolic notations, Elias providing context from early religious practices, and Sahara connecting these elements to the archaeological evidence from the hidden chamber.

By midday, they had made significant progress. Layla had identified a recurring pattern in the symbols that suggested a sophisticated system for describing altered states of consciousness. Elias had found parallels between certain passages and fragments from other early mystical texts. And Sahara had begun mapping the astronomical references in the illustrations to specific celestial events in the second century CE.

"This is amazing," Sahara said as they paused for a lunch break, containers of Greek takeout spread on a table away from the manuscript. "We're looking at what might be a complete manual for an initiation ritual that predates organized Christianity but contains elements that were later incorporated into Christian practice."

Layla nodded, her expression animated. "The text describes a ritual ingestion of what it calls the 'divine elixir,' followed by a guided experience led by an elder or mystagogue. The participants apparently reported consistent visions—geometric patterns evolving into profound encounters with what they perceived as divine entities."

"Which aligns with accounts from the Eleusinian Mysteries," Elias acknowledged, "though those rituals were notoriously secretive. This level of detail is unprecedented."

"What's most interesting to me," Sahara said, "is the map hidden within the astronomical illustrations." She pulled out her tablet and showed them the composite image she'd been working on, overlaying several of the star charts from different pages. "When combined, these create a map of specific locations across the Mediterranean."

Elias leaned closer, his expression sharpening with interest. "You're right. That configuration corresponds to sites in Greece, Italy, and what would now be Turkey."

"Sites where this ritual was practiced?" Layla suggested.

"Or where other texts or artifacts might be hidden," Sahara said. "Remember, the manuscript itself was concealed in a hidden chamber, presumably to protect it from destruction during periods of religious persecution."

A thoughtful silence fell as they considered the implications. If Sahara was right, the manuscript wasn't just an isolated text, but part of a larger corpus—a deliberately preserved record of practices that had been systematically erased from official history.

"We need to investigate these locations," Sahara said finally. "Starting with the site in southern France. According to this map, it's near the modern town of Rennes-le-Château in the French Pyrenees."

"Rennes-le-Château?" Elias looked up sharply. "That area has been associated with numerous historical mysteries, most of them wildly speculative."

"All the more reason to approach it with proper archaeological methodology," Sahara replied. "If there's a hidden chamber similar to the one at Agios Nikolaos, it could contain additional manuscripts or artifacts that would help us understand this 'religion with no name'."

Layla was studying the map with intense focus. "The site in Italy appears to be near Cumae, home to the famous Sibylline Oracle. That can't be a coincidence."

"And the third location is in what would have been Cappadocia," Elias added. "An area known for underground cities and hidden Christian churches during periods of persecution."

The energy in the room had shifted, the academic analysis giving way to the thrill of potential discovery. Sahara felt it like an electric current running through her—the same sensation she'd experienced when first discovering the hidden chamber at the monastery.

"We should propose an expedition to the French site," she said. "It's the closest and most accessible. If we find corroborating evidence there, it would strengthen our case for investigating the others."

"The Greek authorities might be reluctant to let the manuscript leave the country," Elias cautioned.

"We don't need the physical manuscript," Layla said. "I can work with high-resolution images to continue the translation while we investigate the sites."

Sahara nodded. "I'll speak to Papadakis about our findings and propose the expedition. With both of your credentials supporting the request, he'll have a harder time refusing."

Later that afternoon, as Sahara was preparing her formal request to Papadakis, a laboratory assistant entered with an envelope.

"This was just delivered for you, Dr. Quinn," he said, handing her a plain white envelope with her name typed on the front.

Sahara opened it, finding a single sheet of paper inside. The message was brief and unsigned:

"Cease your investigation of the manuscript immediately. Some knowledge is buried for a reason. This is your only warning."

She stared at the note, a chill running through her despite the warm laboratory. Someone knew what they had found and felt threatened by it—threatened enough to attempt intimidation.

"What is it?" Elias asked, noticing her expression.

Wordlessly, she handed him the note. His face darkened as he read it, then passed it to Layla.

"A threat," Layla said, her voice calm but her eyes sharp with concern. "Someone doesn't want us deciphering this text."

"Or doesn't want us following the map to the other locations," Sahara added.

Elias's jaw tightened. "We should inform security. And perhaps reconsider the expedition until we know who sent this."

Sahara shook her head. "No. If someone is this concerned about what we might find, it only confirms we're on the right track." She took the note back and carefully placed it in a clear evidence bag. "We'll inform security, yes, but we're not stopping. If anything, we need to move more quickly now."

She met their gazes, one after the other—Elias with his concern partially masked by professional determination, Layla with a gleam of approval in her dark eyes. Whatever was waiting, in this moment they were united by the mystery before them and the implicit challenge in the threatening note.

"I'll update the proposal to Papadakis," Sahara said. "We need to get to Rennes-le-Château as soon as possible. Before whoever sent this decides to take more direct action."

As she turned back to her computer, Sahara felt a familiar surge of adrenaline. The threat had transformed their academic project into something more urgent, more dangerous—and paradoxically, more compelling. The manuscript wasn't just an ancient text to be studied; it was a secret someone was willing to protect through intimidation.

And if there was one thing Sahara Quinn couldn't resist, it was a secret waiting to be uncovered.

Dr. Nikolaos Papadakis read through Sahara's proposal with a deepening frown, the threatening note placed on his desk beside the formal document. The office was oppressively quiet, the only sound the occasional rustle of paper as he turned a page.

Sahara sat opposite him, with Elias and Layla flanking her in a united front. She kept her expression neutral, though internally she was calculating their odds of approval. As she leaned forward slightly, emphasizing her point, her already unbuttoned blouse shifted just enough to give Dr. Papadakis another glimpse of her chest. She knew it couldn’t hurt to stack the deck in their favor, so to speal. Papadakis was a bureaucrat to his core, and the threat would either make him more cautious or—if she could frame it correctly—more interested in the potential significance of their discovery.

Finally, he set the proposal down and removed his reading glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Let me understand this correctly, Dr. Quinn. You wish to take two foreign consultants to France to investigate a site that may or may not contain artifacts related to our manuscript, based on a map you've extrapolated from astronomical illustrations, all while someone is making threats against your research team?"

When phrased that way, it did sound somewhat reckless. But Sahara was prepared.

"Director Papadakis, the manuscript contains explicit references to other texts and artifacts hidden at specific locations. The astronomical illustrations, when properly interpreted, provide precise coordinates for these locations. The site in France is the most accessible and could provide crucial context for understanding the manuscript itself." She leaned forward slightly. "As for the threat—doesn't that suggest we've discovered something of significant value? Something worth protecting?"

Papadakis's expression remained skeptical. "Or something that could prove embarrassing to certain religious institutions if misinterpreted by sensationalist media."

"All the more reason for proper scientific investigation," Elias interjected smoothly. "Ms. Quinn's methodology is sound, and with my background in early Christian texts and Dr. Hassan's expertise in symbolic languages, we're uniquely qualified to ensure any findings are interpreted with appropriate academic rigor."

Layla nodded in agreement. "The manuscript describes what appears to be a pre-Christian ritual practice that was later absorbed and transformed by early Christianity. Understanding this transition period is of immense historical value."

Papadakis sighed, replacing his glasses and glancing down at the threatening note again. "And you've reported this to campus security?"

"Yes," Sahara confirmed. "They've increased patrols around the laboratory and are investigating the delivery of the note. But our work can't stop because of anonymous threats."

A long moment of silence followed as Papadakis appeared to weigh his options. Finally, he said, "The manuscript remains here, under guard. You may take digital copies for reference. Your expedition to France will be officially classified as a preliminary survey related to the Agios Nikolaos project. Ms. Quinn will file daily reports, and at the first sign of any security concern, you will return immediately." He fixed Sahara with a stern look. "Is that understood?"

Sahara nodded, maintaining a professional demeanor despite the surge of triumph she felt. "Perfectly, Director. Thank you for your support."

"Don't thank me yet," he replied dryly. "If this expedition produces nothing of value, it will reflect poorly on this department and on your judgment, Ms. Quinn."

"I understand the stakes," she assured him, rising from her chair. "We'll depart tomorrow morning, if that's acceptable."

Papadakis waved a dismissive hand. "The sooner you go, the sooner we'll know if this 'map' of yours leads anywhere meaningful."