Chapter 35 · Chapter 35

The cold air from the courtyard drifted across the marble sill, carrying the clean desert chill of late evening into the lingering warmth of burning agarwood. Outside, the headlights of the lead Lexus cut two sharp beams across the crushed gravel, pointing straight toward the gatehouse and the silent highway beyond.

No one stood in the path. No document remained unsigned on the clerk's table. If I stepped through that threshold, the night would swallow the matter of Lady H whole, leaving only the distant echo of closed accounts and hushed family councils.

I looked at the open gate for three measured heartbeats. The black fabric of my abaya stirred lightly in the draft. Every man seated along the perimeter of the hall remained motionless, their gaze fixed upon the floor or directed toward the empty expanse between us, waiting for the rustle of silk that would signal my departure.

My uncle sat three cushions down the southern row, his jaw tight, his fingers curled rigid against the hem of his bisht. He expected me to run.