Mike stood still, phone in hand, staring at the silent screen like it might speak again. But the line was dead. The desert outside, still.
Adam had turned to face him now, his expression pale, unsettled.
"You heard it too, didn't you?" he asked.
Mike hesitated. "Heard what?"
"That voice."
His stomach dropped.
"You heard it?"
Adam nodded slowly. "It wasn't just in the phone." He tapped his temple. "It was… inside."
Mike's hand tightened around the device. Something icy crept down his spine. He moved to the desk, picked up the papyrus again. Symbols twisted and curved across the faded fibers—shapes that once felt dead now pulsed with intention.
"Dad…" Adam's voice had gone quiet.
Mike looked up. His son was backing away from the balcony door.
"What is it?"
Adam pointed outside. "There's something… in the sand."
Mike rushed to his side. The dunes rippled like golden waves, wind dancing over them. But then he saw it too—movement. Not wind. Not illusion.
A shape beneath the surface. Elongated. Massive. Moving slowly in a wide arc around the resort.
Like something swimming.
They both stood frozen, breath caught.
Then: a rumble beneath their feet. Subtle. Subsonic.
Adam grabbed the edge of the doorframe. "It's getting louder. The drums."
Mike's mind raced. The scroll. The myths. The warnings.
"When the drums begin, the harvest draws near..."
He hadn't believed it—not really. Until now.
Suddenly, the lights in the suite flickered. Once. Twice. Out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Then… a knock at the door.
Not urgent. Not loud.
Just… waiting.
Mike stared at it, heart pounding.
"Don't open it," Adam whispered.