Chapter 19 · Chapter 19

The pale amber light of a Riyadh dawn cut through the narrow slits of the limestone shutters, slicing across the dark wool carpet in thin, sharp rules.

From the far corridor, past the heavy cedar frame, came the unmistakable, dull metallic click. The bolt turned from the outside. No one knocked. No one pushed the heavy panel open without an order, but the lock had disengaged. The world beyond this wing had resumed its claim, waiting to see what had been broken and what had survived.

I smoothed the black crepe of my abaya down over my shoulders, settling the fabric so that no crease betrayed the hours gone by. My hands were perfectly steady. I caught the edge of my tarha, folding it neatly around my jawline, tucking the loose end across my throat until nothing remained exposed but my face, bare and cold in the growing daylight.

Talal did not rise from behind the low rosewood desk. He had already pulled on a fresh, crisp white thobe, its stiff collar buttoned high against his throat, leaving only the dark line of his jaw and the measured quiet of his eyes to face the room.