The obscurity of the underground mausoleum was no longer merely not light; it had become something that was in fact there, a third presence in their wet grave. It pressed down upon them, a weight measured in stillness and the constant, inexorable fall of water. The solitary lantern smoldered like a dying star in a dying universe, its yellow flame dancing hour by hour, lengthening their shadows into grotesque, quivering travesties against dripping brick. Sarah slept restlessly, her head on a rolled-up blanket, the wrinkles carved into her face by the shadows. Tariq was awake, staring into the black maw of the tunnel entrance, his over-sensitive ear likely feeling the far-off, seismic throb of the city ripping apart above. Dawud sat back against the coldest wall, needing its solidity.
He wa
