Morning has arrived, but the sun is nowhere to be seen, surrounded by a dense, milky white curtain of fog.
In Illiguo, heavy fog is a rare occurrence.
After leaving the city, Masood's convoy plunged into this natural chaos.
Perhaps due to the mist, visibility was reduced to less than a hundred meters, and the ancient olive trees on either side of the road, weathered by frost, appeared exceedingly eerie in the swirling fog.
In the back seat of the car, having just listened to his nephew Barzani's raging, Masood felt a sudden, inexplicable palpitation.
He instinctively reached into the inner pocket of his traditional robe and touched the cellphone that never left his side.
Upon taking it out, the screen's signal icon was empty, only a glaring little cross and the words "No Service" remained.
He furrowed his brow, the deep lines on his forehead stacked like age rings.
No signal?
On the main road connecting Elbil and Kirkuk?
