Curious about the book? We’ve selected a few captivating passages from the novel to give you a glimpse into the life of Ceti and the extraordinary journey that awaits him.
These excerpts offer a taste of the intrigue, emotion, and rich atmosphere that make this book so compelling—without giving away too much. Immerse yourself in the vivid world Steven Bogaerts has created, where ancient mysteries meet the challenges of the present, and every choice carries the weight of the past. Ready to uncover the secrets?
Let’s begin.
Excerpt 1
(…)
“Paceville had a way of swallowing you whole if you let it. A sprawling maze of narrow streets, all leading to the same rowdy heart—clubs and bars stacked on top of each other, neon signs flashing promises of endless drinks and loud music. The air was thick with a mix of sweat, alcohol, and cheap perfume, the chaotic energy palpable. Tourists and locals alike spilled into the streets, stumbling from one bar to the next, while promoters on every corner tried to coax them inside. But there were quieter pockets too, hidden corners where you could almost escape the noise. Almost.
Ceti darted past a group of tourists stumbling out of a bar, their laughter slurred and heavy. His heart pounded, though not from fear—this was excitement, adrenaline. He’d been working for these people since he was eighteen, after all. Two years ago, an orphan, plucked from the streets, given a job, a purpose. 300 euros a drop—it was good money, better than anything else out there. Who was he to complain?
His breath fogged in the cool night air as he slid his hands into his jacket pockets, his fingers briefly grazing the object. He wondered, as he always did, what was really inside. But that was never his concern. His eyes scanned the faces, looking for his mark. There, in the far corner of a terrace, a man in his mid-30s, cigarette dangling from his lips, drunk and completely unaware of the young courier’s approach.
“Calculated risk. All about timing,” Ceti thought, his mind running through the steps. “Keep your body language relaxed. Look like you’re meant to be here. Blend in.”
He drifted closer, eyes scanning the half-empty glasses and strewn ashtrays. The cigarette smoking man with the hoodie was slumped in his seat, head resting on the back, arms hanging limply at his sides. The man’s discarded leather jacket lay crumpled on the ground nearby, a newspaper sticking out of its pocket, smeared with lukewarm vomit—a clear sign the night had already got messy. Ceti, moving casually, slipped the small packet into the front pocket of the hoodie the man still wore, ensuring it landed unnoticed. His heartbeat quickened, but his movements stayed steady as he stepped back into the chaotic scene around him.
It was done.
(…)
Excerpt 2
(…)
The car itself was a spectacle: bright red with a convertible top down, making it anything but subtle, and far too wide for the slim lanes they navigated. Yet Otis handled it skillfully, his steady hands on the wheel and an air of calm about him that made Ceti trust he’d have them there safe, no matter how narrow the roads became. His dark skin gleamed in the sun, contrasting with the soft beige leather seats, and Ceti noticed that even the summer heat didn’t seem to faze Otis, who wore his usual composed expression.
Ptah rode in the front passenger seat, his sleek ponytail somehow untouched by the breeze. As usual, Ptah had an effortless cool about him, though his usual (…) attire was adapted to a more laid-back look—loose linen shirt in a sandy hue, faded jeans, and sneakers that looked as clean as the day he’d bought them. Ceti’s own attire had (…) given him a relaxed, breezy look with a light button-down shirt in a crisp white, rolled-up sleeves, and shorts that made him feel ready for the Maltese coastline.
The journey took them through a winding route from Paola, winding past limestone townhouses and lively market squares. They traveled through small villages with colourful fishing boats tied up at docks and the scent of fried pastries and fresh fish wafting from open windows. Every turn revealed sun-drenched cliffs and shimmering glimpses of the blue Mediterranean. As they neared the outskirts, the road narrowed further, edged by low stone walls, winding up towards their destination, perched on a rocky hill overlooking the coast.
When they arrived at Ħaġar Qim, the ancient stones greeted them with their stoic silence, standing like sentinels on the landscape. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the site, and with no tourists yet in sight, the place had an almost sacred stillness to it. They moved past the gates with ease; the attendant, accustomed to them, waved them through without a word.
The Ħaġar Qim temple complex lay spread before them, a hauntingly beautiful arrangement of megalithic stones, standing tall and worn with the weight of ages. Each stone slab, marked by centuries of weather, bore testament to the architectural mastery of the ancient inhabitants. Intricately carved spirals adorned the stones in circular patterns that reminded Ceti of waves—a silent nod to ancient power.
(…)
All texts: © Steven Bogaerts 2025. All rights reserved.
