Chapter 28 · Chapter 28

Ammi raised a hand, the crisp cuff of his white thobe cutting sharply through the fragrant smoke of the mabkhara. His face was set in granite, his gaze bearing down on me with the full weight of an elder whose authority had been tested once too often in public view.

"Kalas," Ammi said, his voice dropping into that chilling, measured register reserved for family business that had stepped beyond permissible bounds.

"The daughter of Al-Qahtani does not offer confessions before an assembly. You were called to speak on Nawaf’s conduct, not to air grievances or unveil private choices that were buried five years ago. What passed between you and the threshold of this house remains within the walls of our blood. You will step down from the floor, Hanan."

He signaled to the steward near the heavy arched doorway to close the formal ledger on the low table. The men seated along the perimeter shifted, their eyes lowering in deference to his command, though the air remained thick with curiosity.

Before the steward could take a single step, an elder seated at the head of the Al-Harthy delegation—