Chapter 32 · Untitled Chapter

The quiet settled between our touching cups for only a handful of breaths before the heavy brass knocker struck the outer gates—three deliberate, measured strikes that echoed through the high stone corridor.

Saud did not turn toward the archway. His gaze remained level, resting on the faint ripple of dark liquid inside his finjan. Only the faint, rigid line along his jaw betrayed the cold alertness settling over him.

Mansoor appeared at the threshold of the inner majlis, his white thobe immaculate, his hands held low in quiet deference. He kept his eyes cast down, observing the stillness of the room before he spoke.

"Abu Tariq has arrived, ya ustadh," Mansoor said, his voice level with solemn gravity. "The elders of the Otaibi line sit with him in the outer hall. The arbiter asks for the presence of the daughter of their house."

A demand for arbitration was not a summons turned away behind barred panels. Abu Tariq was a man whose spoken word had settled blood debts and boundary stones across the ridges of Najd long before modern registries held our contracts.