Page 88 of Johan.

I nod, appreciating his support. “We’ll have to be even more discreet and vigilant. Ludovic’s reach is long, but we can’t let that deter us.”

33

Hannah

I pullon my heaviest coat and scarf before heading out, bracing myself against the biting cold. The sky is a dreary gray, and rain taps rhythmically on my umbrella as I walk to class. It's Tuesday, the first day of the new semester, and the campus buzzes with the nervous energy of fresh beginnings.

When I finally reach the lecture hall, I shake off my umbrella and step inside, grateful for the warmth. The familiar hum of chatter fills the room, but as I walk in, it feels strange not to see Johan at the front. Instead, a tall woman with sharp features and a confident stance stands there, introducing herself as Professor Kimberly Foster. She’s finally back after missing the first semester, during which Johan had taken over.

Professor Foster starts the lecture, and I try to pay attention, but my mind keeps drifting. I miss Johan’s wit and the way he conducted the class with such enthusiasm. His playful banter and deep knowledge made every lesson exciting. Now he’s gone to Oman, and who knows how long he’ll be there.

The reality of how much I miss him hits me hard. It’s only been a few days, and I already feel a void. I glance at my phone again, looking at the picture of him and his message, and I can't help but feel a pang of longing. His smile, the promise of adventure, and the warmth of his presence are miles away.

Trying to focus, I take a deep breath and turn my attention back to Professor Foster, who is delving into the intricacies of early human settlements. She speaks with authority, her voice steady and clear, but my thoughts are still with Johan, halfway across the world, digging up ancient artifacts and leaving hickeys on my neck. The cold, rainy Cambridge winter seems even gloomier without him here.

I doodle absentmindedly in my notebook, glancing occasionally at the clock. The minutes seem to crawl by. I miss the way Johan would make eye contact with me during class, sharing an inside joke or a quick smile. Professor Foster is competent, but there’s a lack of that personal connection that Johan brought to every lecture.

The class eventually ends, and as I step back out into the rain, I pull my coat tighter around myself, trying to ward off the chill. The thought of enduring the rest of the semester without Johan feels daunting, but I know I have to push through. I head back to my dorm, determined to dive into my studies and make the most of the week ahead, even as my heart yearns for his return.

34

Johan

The desert stretches endlesslybefore me, a vast expanse of golden sands shimmering under the relentless January sun. The air is dry and hot, a constant reminder of the harsh environment we're working in. Yet, amidst this barren landscape, the excitement of uncovering ancient secrets keeps our spirits high.

Our excavation site at Shisr is a bustling hive of activity. Tents dot the area, and archaeologists move purposefully between them, tools in hand. The hum of conversation, the scrape of shovels against the earth, and the occasional clang of a discovered artifact fill the air. The site is both chaotic and meticulously organized, a testament to the dedication of our team.

As I carefully catalog a set of pottery shards, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, seeing a message from Ludovic asking me to come to his tent immediately. My curiosity piqued, I press the record button and slip the phone back into my pocket, wondering what could be so urgent.

The walk to Ludovic’s tent is brief, but it gives me time to gather my thoughts. The tent flaps rustle in the slight breeze, and I take a deep breath before stepping inside. Ludovic stands at a makeshift desk, swirling a glass of whiskey. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a tension in his eyes that makes me wary.

“Come in, Johan,” he says, his voice smooth but carrying an undertone of seriousness. “Have a seat.”

I step inside, noting the pieces of jewelry spread out on his desk—gold bracelets, earrings, and a necklace encrusted with gems. Each piece is a tangible link to a long-forgotten past, yet their presence here feels ominous. Ludovic’s demeanor is oddly hospitable, and it puts me on edge.

“Can I get you a drink?” he offers, lifting his glass slightly.

“No, thank you,” I reply, taking a seat. My mind races, trying to anticipate what’s coming next.

Ludovic begins to pace around the tent, his movements deliberate. He stops in front of me and sits down, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

“We have to go to London in a few days,” he announces, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re the only one I trust to join me. And since you’re my future son-in-law, I think it’s important to let you in on a little secret.”

My heart skips a beat, and I lean forward slightly, trying to read his expression. “What’s this about, Ludovic?”

“You’re most likely aware of the huge debt your dad owes me,” Ludovic says, his voice calm but laced with a hint of menace.

“I am, yes. He told me about it,” I reply, my stomach tightening at the memory.

“Well, you see those pieces?” Ludovic continues, standing up and picking up a gold bracelet. He holds it up, the metal glinting in the dim light. “These bracelets are believed to belong to theroyal guards; they are made of gold, and they are being sold at £40,000 a piece in the underground market. We currently have five of those. That necklace you see there, estimated at £250,000.”

“I see.” I keep my tone neutral, waiting for him to continue.

“I have a contact, an art dealer who wants to meet me. If your loyalty continues just as it has been, I will cancel the debt your dad owes me once the expedition is over.” Ludovic’s eyes bore into mine, gauging my reaction.

I nod slowly, processing everything. “So, you’d like me to help you transport those pieces to London discreetly enough not to draw attention from the Omani officials and help you sell them to your contact?”

Ludovic’s eyes gleam with approval, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Exactly. There will still be enough artifacts to expose in a museum, don’t worry,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.

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