Chapter 17 · Untitled Chapter

The corridor fell into a brittle, suffocating silence. Ammi Abu Fahad did not cross the threshold. Bandar’s presence was a barrier far heavier than cedar and forged iron; it was the weight of a name that had never yielded an inch to the Subaie elders.

With a stiff incline of his head, Ammi Abu Fahad retreated three paces, his sandals whispering against the polished marble as he turned back toward the vast public majlis where the murmur of waiting men lingered like dust before a storm.

Bandar did not turn around immediately. His hand remained lightly resting against the doorframe, his white linen cuff catching the amber glow of the wall sconce behind us. The scent of aged Taif rose and heavy smoked oud clung to his skin, cool and untroubled despite the rising tension beyond our sanctuary. When his eyes met mine, there was no anxiety in them—only the deep, deliberate stillness that had anchored me through every trial.

"Let them send whoever remains," he said softly, his voice low enough to belong only to the room behind us. "The paper stays where I laid it.