Months later. A small, dusty café in Sulaymaniyah.
The elder’s smile fades. He looks toward the Turkish border.
Dilan doesn’t negotiate. She just places a smaller photo next to the first. It’s a mass grave. “They are digging up history. Erasing our churches, our libraries. My brother is the last person alive who knows the location of a lost Syriac treasure. You don't rescue him for me. You rescue him for the gold.”
Months later. A small, dusty café in Sulaymaniyah.
The elder’s smile fades. He looks toward the Turkish border.
Dilan doesn’t negotiate. She just places a smaller photo next to the first. It’s a mass grave. “They are digging up history. Erasing our churches, our libraries. My brother is the last person alive who knows the location of a lost Syriac treasure. You don't rescue him for me. You rescue him for the gold.”
