Chapter 33 · Chapter 33

The quiet that settled over the limestone courtyard was absolute, broken only by the low, steady murmur of an idling engine beyond the iron perimeter gates. My black travel bag rested on the flagstones near the archway, my passport laid across the leather clasp along with the exit clearance stamped by the family office.

Five years ago, I had boarded a flight in the dead of night because staying meant letting the majlis carve my name into a verdict I had not chosen. Now, the courtyard doors were unlocked. The car waited past the gates, instructed to hold until midnight. No one stood between me and the northern highway. My uncle’s signature had cleared the registry; my own words in the hall had closed the circle of debt.

I stepped into the center of the courtyard, where the cool evening air carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the faint, bitter trace of cold charcoal from the outer hearth. The hem of my abaya brushed against the pale stone. In my hands, the dark leather book felt heavier than gold—