The sand burned beneath her boots, the wind biting at the edges of her scarf. Tasi trudged forward through the endless dunes, her breath shallow, one hand instinctively resting on the swell of her belly. The desert was quiet now—too quiet. Each step felt heavier than the last, not just from the weight of exhaustion or pregnancy, but from the dread curling in her stomach.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the shifting landscape. Her eyes, light blue and glassy with fatigue, scanned the distance. She remembered Salim's laugh, her deceased daughter Alys touch, the sketches in her notebook—fragments of another life, slipping like grains through her fingers.

She whispered to herself, as much a prayer as a promise:*

“Find them. Save them. Keep Amari safe.”

But the deeper she walked into the silence, the more the world around her changed. It wasn’t just the heat or the thirst. Something was wrong. The earth felt hollow beneath her feet, and the shadows... they watched.

And Tasi kept walking. For her child. For her sanity. For what was left of herself.