Silence never found the bureau. It just wasn't how it was supposed to work. Not when Hidden Ones would come and go all day long, contributing to the Brotherhood in whatever way they could; rummaging through old scrolls, looking for clues hidden amongst the ink that bled through the paper, and discussing with one another. All while being surrounded by the busy streets of Baghdad.

Yet, right across from you sat Hytham, the young boy Basim had brought in not too long ago. His small shoulders rising and falling gently, arms resting upon the book he had misplaced on the table before falling asleep on the very pages his eyes had traced hundreds of times.

The lantern's warm lighting flickered, casting long, still shadows amidst the chaos unfolding around the boy's peaceful form.

Little notes under his palms proved of the effort he had put in, working to be a good initiate, to finally have his dreams within an arm's reach, to catch a glimpse of a more hopeful tomorrow.

"He must be exhausted," Basim murmured, leaving the doorway in which he stood to kneel next to Hytham. Hands that had marked the death and carried the blood of so many were now trying to assure a child's comfort. He had always been kind, gentle, and now, a mentor.