Chapter 37 · Untitled Chapter

The silence settled over the majlis with the weight of cold stone. No one reached for the dates. The brass mabkhara in the corner sent up its last ribbon of oud, thin and gray against the high plaster molding, before thinning into nothing.

Ammi Salman did not look down at the floor, nor did he look again at Saud. An elder of his standing did not scramble, but the tremor in his fingers was unmistakable as he reached forward onto the low table.

The contracts lay spread across the dark polished wood—thick paper stamped with the seal of the Al-Otaibi elders, the clauses outlining an old obligation, an erased lineage, and the promises of a restored seat that no longer held any currency in this room.

Beside him, my brother did not speak. He had spent the evening waiting for an opening, a flicker of hesitation in my eyes, or a polite concession from the master of the house. He found none. When my uncle extended a hand toward the papers, my brother moved quickly, gathering the stiff pages with rigid precision, rolling them into the leather case he had unbuckled when they first arrived.