Location; Merzouga Desert, Morocco
Under the ruthless Moroccan sun, a convoy of matte-black jeeps carved through golden dunes. Archer sat in the lead vehicle, his eyes hidden behind mirrored aviators, the ancient scroll clenched in his gloved hand.
Beside him, Amaru Villalobos murmured in Quechua, eyes scanning the shifting sands. "The Temple of Eresh is near. My grandfather said it only appears when blood has been spilled for it."
Archer smirked. "Then we're on the right path."
Behind them, mercenaries from several nations—a cocktail of the world's best and worst—readied weapons. They weren't just hunting a weapon. They were digging up a legend.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, a Blackwood family jet descended into Casablanca. Damien, Nora, and an elite task force landed under heavy alias. With them was Lucien Blackwood, Damien's father's half-brother—a geopolitical fixer once believed dead.
Lucien lit a cigarette as he stepped onto the tarmac. "You really think Archer found the Temple?"
"He's been ten steps ahead," Damien said. "But this time, we've got something he doesn't—family secrets."
"Correction," Lucien said. "I have those. You've just got expensive suits."
Inside the bustling Medina of Marrakech, Nora met with her Moroccan cousin, Layla El-Masri—a master of languages and encryption, now a high-ranking informant embedded within rogue intelligence circles.
Layla handed Nora a satchel of decrypted documents. "You're not going to like what I found. There's a mole. Embedded deep within your Tavaran network. Someone very close."
Nora's heart sank. "How close?"
Layla looked her dead in the eye. "Think cousin-close. Possibly someone on Damien's personal team."
Back at the hotel safehouse, Nora pulled Damien aside, her voice a whisper. "We've been bleeding intel for weeks. Archer's not just lucky—he's informed."
"You think it's one of ours?" Damien asked.
"I know it is."
Damien clenched his jaw, memories racing. He thought of Reuben, the tactical lead. Or his second cousin Serena, who recently returned from a stint in Nigeria. Or—God forbid—Lucien.
"We'll smoke them out," he said grimly.
In the heart of the desert, Archer and Amaru arrived at a peculiar rise of stone shaped like a fang. Blood had already been spilled—mercenaries caught in a tribal ambush earlier that morning—and as the sun reached its zenith, the temple revealed itself. A shimmering veil lifted, unveiling steps carved from ancient black rock.
Amaru exhaled. "It's real."
Archer grinned. "Let's meet history."
They descended into cool darkness, torches flickering to life. Ancient glyphs etched in obsidian lined the walls, whispering of "Vox Divina"—a weapon said to resonate with a frequency that disrupts human will. A weapon forged from forgotten technology and esoteric knowledge.
"What do you intend to do with this?" Amaru asked.
"Change the world," Archer replied. "And burn everything the Blackwoods and El-Masris built to ash."
Unseen by both, a tiny drone zipped through the chamber, feeding footage back to a hidden receiver. In Casablanca, Layla tapped her keyboard and whispered, "We've got them."
Back at the base, Damien prepared for deployment when Lucien stepped in, gun in hand.
"You're not going to make it in time," Lucien said. "Because the traitor is already here."
"What are you saying?" Damien narrowed his eyes.
Lucien tossed a dossier on the table. It was Damien's own aide—Kiera Banes. Not just an assistant. A second cousin. Groomed from birth. Embedded by the El-Masri breakaway faction.
"She was never yours," Lucien said. "She was his."