Chapter 31 · Untitled Chapter

The heavy cedar doors of the private wing unsealed, and the vast expanse of the main majlis opened before us, illuminated by the pale, cold wash of early morning light filtering through the high clerestory windows.

The men were already gathered, the councils of Al-Subaie and Al-Tamimi seated along the perimeter carpets according to strict seniority. My abaya was drawn close, the black shaila pinned securely beneath my chin, shielding every trace of the night that had passed within the locked wing.

At our entrance, a profound stillness settled over the hall. Not a thobe rustled; not an amber bead clicked against carved walnut. There was no shouting, no raised hand—only the heavy, suffocating weight of heba.

Bandar walked two paces ahead of me, his white thobe pristine, his crisp ghutra falling straight over his broad shoulders, untouched by the long hours of vigil. He did not glance toward the perimeter where my uncle sat, nor did he offer an apologetic nod to the elders whose faces were carved from stony silence.

He moved directly toward the far end of the hall and took his place in the sadr, the central seat of honor reserved for the one whose word