Chapter 4: The Rites of Revelation

University of Athens, Archaeological Laboratory

The first faint rays of dawn had yet to break the horizon as Sahara stirred, her body heavy and sated from the night before. The room was still cloaked in a dim, pre-dawn gray, the silence broken only by the soft, steady breathing of Elias and Layla, who lay tangled together in sleep. Carefully, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet padding silently across the cool floor. The air smelled of sex and sweat, a heady reminder of the intimacy they’d shared.

She stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and turning on the shower. The water was scalding, just the way she liked it, and she let it cascade over her skin, washing away the sticky remnants of semen and sweat that clung to her. Leaning against the tiles, she exhaled slowly, replaying the night’s intensity in her mind. It had been everything she’d needed—and more.

By the time she stepped out, the room was still dark, the first hints of sunrise only just beginning to creep through the blinds. She dressed quickly, slipping into clean clothes and tying her hair back in a loose bun. Without a backward glance at the sleeping figures in the bed, she left the guesthouse, the cool morning air sharp against her skin as she made her way to the lab.

The streets of Athens were eerily quiet at this hour, the city suspended in that liminal space between night and day. Sahara walked briskly, her breath visible in the cool air, her mind already shifting to the manuscript. The lab was empty when she arrived, the familiar scent of aged parchment and dust filling her senses as she flipped on the lights. The manuscript lay on the table, its ancient pages waiting to be unraveled.

She took a seat, her fingers tracing the edges of the parchment as she turned to a particular illustration—a detailed rendering of what appeared to be a ritual preparation involving several plants combined in a specific sequence. Her brow furrowed as she leaned closer, her eyes scanning the faint annotations surrounding the image.

The sound of the door opening broke the silence, and Sahara looked up to see Elias stepping inside, two coffee cups in hand. He looked as composed as ever, his shirt crisp, his expression calm, but there was a faint shadow of fatigue beneath his eyes—a reminder of the night they’d shared. “I thought you might be here already,” he said, his voice low but warm. He handed her one of the cups.

Sahara accepted the coffee with a nod of thanks. It was a small gesture, but one that revealed how well he remembered her habits. “Old archaeological instincts. The best light for examination is always in the morning.”

Elias moved to stand beside her, his familiar scent—a mixture of sandalwood cologne and old books—washing over her like a wave. It brought back memories of her first days at Oxford, when she’d been a fresh-faced archaeology student, wide-eyed and eager to prove herself. He’d been her mentor then, his reputation as one of the brightest minds in the field already well-established. Even then, there had been something magnetic about him—the way he spoke with such authority, the way his eyes lit up when discussing ancient texts, the way he’d always seemed to look at her as though she were more than just another student.

“What section are you reviewing?” he asked now, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

“This illustration of the preparation ritual,” she replied, keeping her tone professional. “The detail is remarkable for a text this old. Look at the precision in the plant renderings—the artist clearly had firsthand knowledge of these species.”

Elias leaned closer, his shoulder nearly touching hers. “Indeed. And the sequence is explicitly marked with these numerical symbols.” He pointed to small notations beside each plant. “The order of combination appears to be crucial to the ritual.”

“Which supports Layla’s theory about this being a practical guide rather than purely theological text,” Sahara observed.

A slight tightening around Elias’s eyes was the only indication of his reaction. “Layla is brilliant, certainly, but her interpretations tend toward the sensational. Mystery cults and psychoactive rituals make for exciting conference presentations, but the historical evidence requires more ... restraint.”

Sahara took a sip of her coffee, using the moment to choose her words carefully. “I’ve found that the most significant discoveries often lie at the intersection of competing interpretations. Your expertise in early Christian texts and her knowledge of symbolic languages give us complementary perspectives.”

Elias studied her face, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Always in the middle, Sahara. It’s one of your more admirable qualities.” He paused, then added in a lower tone, “Among many.”

Before she could respond, the laboratory door opened again, and Layla entered. She wore a simple linen blouse and tailored pants, her dark hair pulled back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Despite the early hour, she looked alert and focused, a leather portfolio tucked under one arm.

Layla’s arrival broke the quiet intensity of the room, her footsteps soft against the tiled floor. “Good morning,” she greeted them, her eyes taking in their proximity with a quick, assessing glance. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Sahara replied smoothly, stepping back slightly from Elias, though her tone carried just a hint of sarcasm. “We were just discussing the illustrated preparation sequence. You know how passionate he gets about details.”

The corner of Layla’s mouth twitched, her sharp mind catching the double entendre immediately. “I’m well aware,” she said dryly, setting her bag down on the table. “Though I imagine morning preparations are a bit different from the nighttime rituals you two are accustomed to.”

Elias raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-wary. “Careful, Dr. Hassan. That wit of yours might get you into trouble.”

Sahara smirked, leaning casually against the table. “Oh, I think we’re all well past careful at this point,” she said, her voice dripping with innuendo. Layla couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her, though she quickly stifled it with a cough. “Right. The manuscript.” She glanced at the page they’d been studying, her expression shifting to one of genuine interest. “What have you found so far?”

Sahara gestured to the illustration, her tone shifting to professional but still laced with that playful edge. “We were just speculating about the plants used in this preparation sequence,” she said. “It’s a fascinating mix—possibly kykeon ingredients, though I’m sure Elias has other theories. He always does.”

Elias shot her a look, though there was no real irritation in it. “Kykeon is the most likely candidate,” he said, his tone measured but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Though I suppose we’ll need to dive deeper to be certain.”

“Deeper indeed,” Sahara murmured, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She turned back to Layla, her expression innocent. “What do you think, Dr. Hassan? Care to join us in unraveling the mystery?”

Layla folded her arms, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Oh, I think I can handle it. Though I hope you two have saved some of that passion for the academic discussion.”

Sahara’s laugh was low and knowing. Then, without warning, Sahara pushed herself off the table and crossed to the door, peering out into the hallway to ensure they were still alone. Satisfied, she closed the door firmly and turned back to Elias, her eyes dark with intent. Without a word, she stepped up to him, her fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants down just enough to free his cock, already half-hard from the tension in the room.

She dropped to her knees, her mouth closing around him in one swift motion, her tongue swirling around the tip before she took him deeper. Elias groaned, his hand instinctively tangling in her hair as she worked him, her lips sliding up and down his length with practiced ease. Saliva pooled at the corners of her mouth, dripping down his shaft as she deep-throated him, her throat tightening around him in a way that made his knees buckle.

Layla watched from a few feet away, her arms still crossed, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. She didn’t join in, but she didn’t look away either, enjoying the sight of Sahara’s complete control over the moment.

Elias’s breathing grew ragged, his grip on Sahara’s hair tightening as he neared the edge. “Sahara—” he managed to rasp, his voice strained, but she didn’t slow down. Her hands gripped his thighs, holding him steady as she took him all the way, her throat working him until he came with a guttural groan, his release spilling down her throat in thick, pulsing waves.

She swallowed every drop, pulling back only when she was sure he was spent. With a wicked grin, she tucked him back into his pants and smoothed down his shirt, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She rose to her feet, her gaze flicking briefly to Elias before returning to the manuscript. “Now, let’s get to work,” she said, her voice calm and collected, as if nothing had happened. “Before someone distracts us again.”