Chapter 16 · Chapter 16

The solid timber did not shudder, but the dull vibration of my uncle’s fist traveled through the grain. Outside in the corridor, the silence of the outer wing was thin and strained, hollowed out by the men who had spent years convincing themselves that whatever was locked behind this threshold was only myth and dust.

Majed did not move from where he stood beside the carved console. His white thobe caught the amber glow of the sconce, immaculate and unhurried. He offered no command, no preemptive caution; his authority lay in the very stillness with which he watched me, granting me the full weight of the floor.

I stepped toward the heavy door, stopping two paces short of the brass lock. My fingers remained curled around the parchment envelope, its cold crimson seal pressed against my palm. The scent of aged cedar and dehn al oud hung thick between us, sealing this room against the noise of the majlis.

"Ammi," I said, my voice pitched low and level, carrying cleanly through the gap beneath the frame without a tremor. "You waste your breath against a lock that is not yours to command.