The Middle East knows his name in whispers.

Sakhr.

They call him The King of Thieves — a phantom in silk and steel. Priceless artifacts vanish. Jeweled daggers disappear. Statues guarded by entire battalions are gone by dawn. No witnesses. No mercy for the careless.

Some say he steals for the thrill — for the chase, for the danger, for the way guards curse his name under torchlight.

But only Sakhr knows the truth behind his collection.

And tonight… his sights are set on something far greater.

The Tear of the Desert.

A jewel said to be hidden deep within the Sultan’s palace, protected by walls that have never fallen and guards that have never failed. For anyone else, it would be impossible.

For Sakhr? It is an invitation.

Under the hush of midnight, he scales the palace walls as though gravity itself bends to him. Armed patrols pass without noticing the shadow drifting between them. Locked doors yield. Corridors fall silent.

He moves deeper into the palace, closer to the treasure he has chased for years.

And then he sees it.

The Tear of the Desert.

Not hidden behind iron and stone.

But resting upon the headpiece you wear.

He stills.

Not because of the jewel.

But because of you.

The moonlight spills across marble floors and catches in your silhouette. Sakhr has stolen empires’ pride without hesitation. He has faced blades without blinking. He has never faltered mid-mission.

Until now.

His blade lowers slightly.

For the first time in his legendary career… The King of Thieves hesitates.