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Assistant: Title: Eternal
        Author: Renee45 Renee45 
        Chapter: 9/26 
        Summary: Smiles sheepishly because my muse has switched fandoms... enjoy!(I suck as summaries, but this is just a what-if for season 5 with emphasis on Sofia and Rafe because I have a problem with apparently enjoying @ssh@l@ characters who can be redeemed... in my mind).
        Contents: Chapter 9: Cairo - Part 3
    

    


      
        
          Just realized today that Rafes season 3/4 look reminds me of Paul Walker in the Fast movies (I know not everyone’s cup of tea). But now I can’t unsee the blue eyes, short blondish/brown hair and Mia being a petite, dark haired Latina woman to whom this white man loves. Parallels.Enjoy!
      
  

  
  
    
    
  Cleo stands before Sofia the next day, tucking stray curls back into the scarf covering her hair. She gently adjusts the gauze on Sofia’s hairline to make it less noticeable— her fingers are quick and efficient.

  “Remember,” Cleo said firmly, “don’t talk to anyone but the bank officials.”

  Behind her, Pope nods, glancing at his phone. “If Geoff’s men already made it, they’ll probably be watching the waiting area, trying to catch sight of you. Keep your eyes down, and don’t engage.”

  Rafe lets out an exaggerated sigh, tugging at the heavy scarf draped around his neck. “We get it. Don’t talk, don’t look, don’t breathe.”

  “I’m just trying to help,” Popes eyes narrow, frustration evident in his tone.

  Sofia places the back of her hand on Rafe’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath as she tries to calm him. “We appreciate it. We’ll be careful.”

  Rafe exhales, his irritation easing as he glances down at her hand before giving a slight nod.

  Pope nods as well, his expression softening. “Cleo and I will be inside, keeping watch. If anything happens, we’ll alert you. JB, Kiara, and Sarah are stationed outside, watching the front.”

  Sofia and Rafe nod silently in acknowledgment.

  The Egyptian morning heat bears down on them. Sofia feels it even more acutely with the scarf wrapped around her head. The lightweight, open abaya they found at a local shop hangs pinned loosely over her tank top, a gesture to fit in more with the local modesty customs. Kiara found a pair of linen pants to briefly replace her shorts, though they are about two sizes too big so they’ve tied one of John B’s shoelaces around her waist to keep them in place.

  Rafe, in contrast, hasn’t tried as hard. He’s still wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but he’s thrown a jacket over it and added a pair of cheap sunglasses to his ensemble.

  “We’ll see you on the other side,” Pope says before he and Cleo disappear into the bank, moving inconspicuously to secure a vantage point.

  Sofia and Rafe linger in a shaded alcove, giving their lookouts time to get into position. The tension between them is heavy, a tangible reminder of the unspoken words from the night before. Rafe avoids her gaze, his attention locked on the bustling street beyond.
She wants to say something—needs to—but the words refuse to come out.  Thank you. I’m sorry. I love you. What are you thinking?  Everything she wants to say swirls in her mind, jumbled and chaotic.
  “Rafe?” His name comes out softly, hesitantly.

  “Yeah?” His response is slow and distracted, his eyes scanning the crowd.

  “Thank you.”

  Rafe glances down at her, startled.

  “For coming for me,” she says quickly, shaking her head at how inadequate the words feel. “For… saving me.”

  He studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he says simply, “There wasn’t a question in my mind.”

  Before she can respond, his phone buzzes. He looks at the screen and nods briskly. “Time to go.”

  Sofia pushes her thoughts aside as they step into the bank.

  The interior is busy, with locals moving through their daily routines. Sofia spots Cleo and Pope tucked into a corner as they wait in line. They’re doing their best to blend in, though Pope’s brief smile when their eyes meet helps calm her nerves.

  Once they reach the front, the teller quickly types the request on his computer before procuring his manager. A different one from yesterday, the manager arrives moments later, shuffling through papers and collecting two sets of keys. He approaches with a professional smile. Sofia mirrors it, though her heart pounds in her chest. She keeps her gaze steady, resisting the urge to scan the room for Groff or his men.

  “Please sign at the bottom to confirm access to the safety deposit box,” the manager says, sliding the paperwork forward.

  Sofia picks up the pen, trembling slightly as she signs her name. The tail end of “Ramirez” wavers embarrassingly, but the manager doesn’t seem to notice.

  Rafe takes her hand under the counter, his fingers intertwining with hers. He gives two reassuring squeezes, his thumb brushing over hers.

  The manager reviews the document, nodding in approval, then gestures for them to follow.

  He leads them through a series of halls to the vault, accompanied by a security officer and another staff member. Like in New York, the vault is cool and dimly lit, with walls lined with rows of metal compartments.

  The manager appraises the wall until he finds box 15845, unlocks it, and places it on the table in the center of the room. He clicks the lid open and steps back.

  “We’ll leave you to it. Please let us know if you need anything,” he says before exiting. The heavy vault door swings partially shut, leaving a narrow gap.

  The box sits in front of them on the table, which is far more ornate than the one in New York. The table itself is carved with intricate patterns along its edges, and the old wood is polished to a shine that gleams faintly under the dim lighting of the room. The box is a standard rectangular metal deposit box—plain and utilitarian—a stark contrast.

  Sofia exhales audibly, nerves fluttering in her chest. She doesn’t even know what to expect. The box could be empty again, for all she knows. Maybe Hollis set this up as one last ploy to manipulate someone—her—as part of some twisted mind game.

  She glances up at Rafe, who stands close beside her, his gaze fixed on the slightly ajar lid. His expression mirrors her trepidation, but when he catches her eye, the corner of his mouth lifts in a reassuring half-smile. The gesture steadies her, even if just a little.

  Together, they turn their attention back to the box. Slowly, Rafe lifts the lid. Inside, sitting almost perfectly centered, is a thick, stone object. One edge is smooth, arcing into a circular curve. The other two edges meet at a jagged point as if they were splintered off from something more significant.

  “What the f@ck is this?” Rafe mutters, gently pulling the object from the box and turning it over in his nimble fingers. Both sides feature etched patterns, but the surface is too little to reveal any meaningful details.

  Sofia leans forward, peering into the now-empty box. “There’s nothing else. Why can’t there just be a paper or something to explain all this?” Her voice carries a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

  “Because that would be too easy,” Rafe replies dryly.

  Without hesitation, he pockets the object and pulls out his phone to send a quick text. Moments later, his phone buzzes, the harsh glow of the screen briefly illuminating his face.

  “John B says Groff is here.”

  Sofia’s eyes widen, her pulse quickening.

  “We need to move. Don’t look around. Eyes on the exit. Walk fast, don’t run. We don’t want to draw attention,” Rafe says, gripping her hand securely. His voice is low and steady as he continues, “Groff won’t risk anything in a public space unless he wants to deal with the local police.”

  Even though he doesn’t see it, she nods and lets him lead her.

  The manager is startled by Rafe’s insistence that they’re done and ready to leave. He quickly calls for the security officer waiting by the vault entrance. The officer steps forward and guides them toward the front of the bank to which they follow without hesitation. 

  Her eyes scan the crowd as they round on the bank lobby, eyes landing on a group of men, completely sticking out amid locals. Some of Dalia’s men. And Groff. Looking almost as unhinged as he did yesterday, eyes floating around the room as if by sheer will they’re materialize right in front of him. 

  She tugs lightly in Rafe’s arm and gestures with her eyes. As they get closer, Rafe throws an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in and whispering, “Keep your head down and just keep walking until we’re out the doors.”

  She nods lightly. They skirt through the lobby, focus trained on the entrance. Rafe gestures towards Cleo and Pope and they move, squeezing as silently and sneakily through the other patrons, meeting them at the door. 

  The fresh air is a relief.

  “Hey.” John B greets them as they round the corner just outside. Sarah and Kiara fall in step beside them. 

  “What’d you guys find?” John B asks as they continue trekking away from Dalia’s men. Away from Groff.

  Rafe roots around in his pocket, produces the artifact, and hands it over. John B discreetly holds it up, squinting at it. Sarah’s quick hand snatches it from her boyfriend and pulls it in closer. Analyzing it too. “What is it?”

  Rafe grunts, “Your guess is as good as mine.” Sofia pulls the stifling scarf from around her hair, finally breathing another sigh of relief. 

  Pope gently grabs the piece from Sarah’s hands, holding it out in front and turning it just as Rafe did in the vault as if doing so would reveal something different. It doesn’t. 

  “Well,” Pope states, turning around and walking backward, “all we can do now is move on to the next box as fast as possible. We’re ahead of Groff and his men, so let’s capitalize on that.”

  “London?” Kiara asks the group. 

  They all nod.'
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