Chapter 32 · Untitled Chapter

The silence that settled over the hall did not bring peace; it only cleared the floor for someone who believed he possessed the authority to mend what anger could not force. The outer carved doors groaned once more on their hinges, admitting the chill of the Riyadh night along with the measured, deliberate footfalls of a man who never hurried.

It was Abu Tariq. As the eldest surviving brother of Bandar’s late father, he carried the full weight of the Al-Tamimi name in every fold of his gold-trimmed brown bisht. His beard was silver, trimmed close and neat, and his eyes held neither the frantic frustration of the men at the gate nor the blunt hostility of Abu Saud.

He walked with the heavy, unhurried cadence of someone accustomed to entering a room only after the shouting had burned itself to ash.

He did not look at the other men still hovering near the archway, nor did he look at the cars idling in the distant drive. His gaze settled first on Bandar, lingering on the absolute stillness of his posture, before turning toward me.