Chapter 22 · Untitled Chapter

The quiet that followed Abu Fahad’s departure did not last five minutes before the copper knocker struck the heavy outer threshold once more.

This time, it was not an elder whose years commanded ritual deference, but Mansour Al-Husseini—a younger partner from the commercial syndicate, a man accustomed to modern glass towers in the King Abdullah Financial District, who treated every impasse in the province as an equation of restructured equity. He entered with the brisk stride of an auditor, his spotless winter thobe crisp, his dark bisht gathered over one forearm.

He halted just short of the Persian carpet, observing the bare formality of the threshold. His gaze flicked immediately toward the console table where the unsigned settlement rested beside the brass telephone, before shifting to where I sat motionless in the shadow of the arched window, fully veiled in my black abaya and silk shaila.

"Bandar," Mansour began without taking a seat, though the perimeter sofas remained open to him. He inclined his chin toward me with perfunctory courtesy. "Sayyidati. I will be direct, because the elders outside are losing their patience, and the market opening tomorrow morning will not pause for family sentiment.