Page 30 of Johan.

I nod, a small measure of relief washing over me as I finally share the burden. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, his expression softening slightly. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

For the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things can still be set right.

After a moment of shared silence, I clear my throat. “I need another favor,” I say, feeling the weight of the request even as the words leave my mouth. “I need to meet Hannah at seven. Can you cover for me?”

Conrad looks at me, his expression hardening again. “I'll cover for you,” he says, his voice firm. “But I won't tolerate you keeping Hannah as a side-chick.”

I nod, the gravity of his words sinking in. “I'm gonna fix this sooner than later. I promise.”

Conrad watches me for a moment longer, then nods. “You'd better. For everyone's sake.”

After meeting with Conrad, I make my way to Granta Place, heading towards Amelia’s flat. The street is quiet, almost tucked away, lined with unremarkable buildings that fade effortlesslyinto the fabric of the city. I step inside one of them, climbing the stairs to the third floor. As I reach the apartment door, I knock gently, a subtle unease settling in the pit of my stomach.

A middle-aged Black woman opens the door with a warm, inviting smile that reaches her eyes. Her natural afro hair frames her face beautifully, and she exudes a sense of calm and assurance. She wears a mustard-colored jacket over a patterned scarf, her look casual yet tasteful. The way she carries herself radiates a quiet confidence, and her presence immediately puts me at ease, even as I wonder if I have the right address.

“Johan Bentinck?” she asks, her voice steady and welcoming.

I nod, and she steps aside to let me in. “Come in. They’re waiting for you.”

I enter the apartment, following her through a narrow hallway that opens into an area that blends both the living and dining rooms. The apartment itself is sparse, more of a temporary refuge than a permanent home. The furniture is minimal and utilitarian, with just a few personal touches that hint at the lives of its occupants.

As we step into the room, I see Amelia and Hannah standing around a rounded table. Spread out on the table is a large map, surrounded by various files and pictures, creating an atmosphere of intense planning and strategy.

For a moment, I am struck by a mix of emotions. This is the mysterious Amelia van Wassenaer, the woman who disappeared over twenty years ago and is finally standing in front of me. After hearing so many stories about her—her research, her disappearance, and the mystery that surrounded her absence—seeing her in person feels almost surreal.

Amelia, Professor van Wassenaer, I should say, given her seniority, looks up from the map. Her long, silver hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her face elegantly. She wears distinctive, green-framed glasses that accentuate her sharp,intelligent eyes. Her expression is calm yet stern, and she exudes a sense of quiet authority. She’s dressed in a simple yet elegant blouse and a dark jacket, a look that complements her academic demeanor.

“Johan,” she greets me with a nod, her voice calm but laced with an underlying current of concern. The years have etched lines of wisdom on her face, but her presence is undeniably powerful. “Glad you made it.”

“Professor van Wassenaer,” I reply, acknowledging her with a slight bow of my head, my voice a bit unsteady. “It’s an honor finally meeting you.”

“Oh, please,” she brushes off. “Just call me Amelia.” Before I can answer back, she extends her hand, and I shake it firmly. Then her gaze shifts to the woman who stands beside me, and she says, “Johan, this is Dr. Angela Thompson, a dear friend of mine. She’s the one who found us this little hideaway for our meeting and any upcoming ones.”

“Your name rings a bell,” I say, shaking her hand. “In which field do you work?”

Angela smiles. “I was one of Amelia’s teammates during our expedition at the site of Shisr.”

Amelia chimes in. “She's a geomorphologist specializing in ancient cities now, but you might have read her report about the movements of sand and how it affected Ubar.”

Realization dawns on me, and I recall reading some of her work. “I did, yes. Ludovic has a file about it. Impressive stuff.”

“Thank you,” she says, her eyes twinkling with a hint of pride. “Those were some challenging but incredibly rewarding times.”

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask, “Did you ever publish the report I read about Ubar? I had never heard of that city until Hannah mentioned it.”

Angela's smile fades slightly. “I did try, but after Amelia’s disappearance, Ludovic was very much against it. He made sure Cambridge wouldn’t endorse it and kept my research private.”

I nod, understanding the weight of her words. “That's unfortunate. Your work deserves recognition.”

Then, my gaze switches to Hannah. She's standing near the window, arms crossed, her posture rigid. Her face is serious, and there’s a clear glint of anger in her eyes. The events of yesterday still hang heavily between us, unresolved and raw. Her dark hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders. She’s dressed in a casual sweater and jeans, a stark contrast to the formal setting I saw her in yesterday.

“Aunt Amelia knows that Ludovic is planning to launch a new expedition to the Shisr site in January.” Her voice is calm and matter-of-fact, completely disregarding the tension between us.

I nod. “That’s true. He gave me the research about Ubar and told me to study it thoroughly.”

“I assume you know everything about the Star of Ubar, then,” Amelia adds.

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