Chapter 32 · Chapter 32

Abu Tariq did not signal his driver, nor did he withdraw his hand. Instead, his fingers snapped over the visa document, crumpling the thick embossed parchment against his palm as he stepped backward into the arched corridor that connected the formal hall to the outer foyer. His chest rose beneath his dark bisht, his jaw set with the rigid indignation of an elder accustomed to being obeyed without pause.

"You think a single evening under this roof alters thirty years of blood and custom, Danah?" my uncle said, his voice dropping into a harsh, brittle rasp that echoed against the polished limestone. "You are an Al-Subait. You do not dictate terms from another man's threshold. Take the flight, or you leave me no choice but to convene the family council before first light."

Hatim did not answer him from the threshold of the majlis. He moved with a measured, unhurried pace, the rustle of his crisp white thobe the only sound cutting through the tension of the corridor. There was no hurried stride, no raised fist, nothing of the reckless fury that lesser men mistook for authority.