# The Unfinished Order

Author: J. R. Vale
Site: ReadNovelHub
Canonical: https://readnovelhub.com/novel/the-unfinished-order
Genre: Crime novels

## World
When a damning order bears her name, Faisal Al-Mutairi claims the blame—and locks her inside with the truth no one dares speak.

## Tropes
- Dark Romance
- Crime novels

## FAQ
### What is The Unfinished Order about?
When a damning order bears her name, Faisal Al-Mutairi claims the blame—and locks her inside with the truth no one dares speak.

### Who is the author of The Unfinished Order?
The Unfinished Order is written by J. R. Vale. Read Chapter 1 free on ReadNovelHub.

### Is The Unfinished Order a Dark Romance story?
Yes. The Unfinished Order is tagged for Dark Romance readers looking for North American romance-fantasy tropes.

### Can I read The Unfinished Order Chapter 1 for free?
Yes. Chapter 1-5 Free. Weekly VIP trial from Chapter 6. Start The Unfinished Order on ReadNovelHub.

### What happens at the start of The Unfinished Order?
The paper lay between the coffee and the dates, face up, and nobody had touched it since the tray came in. I kept my hands folded inside my abaya cuffs and counted the men who found something else to look at.

## Chapter 1 teaser
### Untitled Chapter

The paper lay between the coffee and the dates, face up, and nobody had touched it since the tray came in. I kept my hands folded inside my abaya cuffs and counted the men who found something else to look at. Nine of eleven. My uncle read the first line a third time, as though a third reading might change the name on it. Gahwa went round. The dallah tipped, the finjan filled to less than half, and my cousin took his with his right hand and did not drink. Oud moved through the room from the mabkhara in the corner, slow and patient, the way talk moves in a house. Then Faisal came in. He did not hurry, and he did not greet the room one man at a time. He stopped in the middle of the majlis, where the carpet is oldest, and the side of the family that had been loud at noon went quiet all at once. I looked at his cuff and not at his face. The white thobe pressed hard at the collar; the button at his wrist had turned so the thread showed. "The order," he said. My uncle's hand went to the paper. It did not lift it. "Read it out," Faisal said, and it was not loud. "Then put it down." My uncle read. I heard my own name in the middle of the sentence and heard the room breathe around it, one long breath passed from man to man like a cup. Faisal took the paper by one corner, folded it along the crease someone had already worn into it, and put it inside his thobe, against his chest, where the cloth moved when he breathed. "It sits on me," he said, "from tonight." The finjan stopped at my uncle's mouth. Nobody set it down. For a while the room worked at pretending he had not said it. My cousin lifted his finjan again and this time he drank, and the click of the cup going back onto the saucer gave every man present permission to move. At the far end of the carpet two of them began to di

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