Chapter 5.

I dropped to my knees before Noura could take another step, my hands closing around her leg like she was the only solid thing left in the world.

"Please," I begged, the word tearing out of me raw and ugly. "Please, let me leave with him. I'll bring him back, I swear it, anytime you want to see your grandson, I'll bring him myself, just please, don't do this to us—"

She looked down at me the way you'd look at something inconvenient on the floor.

Then she pulled her leg free and walked away.

One by one, they followed her, Khalil first, then Safiya and her sons, then Amira, who paused for half a second like she might say something, before she too turned and left. The courtyard emptied until it was only me, kneeling on cold stone, my cheek still throbbing from the slap, my dignity scattered somewhere in the dust around me.

I don't know how long I stayed there before I finally forced myself up and made my way back to the room.

Rayyan was already asleep, curled small under a blanket too big for him, his face peaceful in a way mine would never be again tonight. I sat beside him and pressed my palm gently to his cheek, and the tears came without permission, silent, endless.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry, baby. We shouldn't have come here. I did this. I brought us into this, and I promise you, I promise you, I will get us out."

Sleep didn't come. I lay beside him staring at the ceiling, running through every name I knew in this city and coming up empty every single time. I was a foreigner here, invisible, without a single soul who owed me anything. I scrolled through my contacts out of desperation more than hope. Nothing. No one.

Then, almost by accident, I opened I*******m, and a video autoplayed at the top of my feed.

Ava.

I hadn't spoken to her in years, not since university in London, back when she'd been the scholarship girl in our cohort, brilliant and quiet and fiercely determined, the kind of person who worked twice as hard as everyone else and never once complained about it.

Her parents had always lived in Dubai; she'd flown back and forth every holiday while the rest of us stayed put. We'd been close once, genuinely close before life and distance did what it always does. The video showed her on a work trip, some consulting project by the looks of it, standing in front of a glass office tower, laughing at something off camera.

My thumb hovered over her profile before I let myself think twice. I found a number in her bio, an old habit of hers, always leaving a way for people to reach her.

It was past midnight. I called anyway.

It rang and rang, long enough that I nearly gave up, my hope crumbling with each unanswered tone. Then, finally, a groggy voice answered. "Hello?"

"Ava. It's Sophie. I'm so sorry to call this late, I didn't know who else—" My voice broke entirely, and everything spilled out in a rush, the funeral, the estate, the guns, the slap, the fear curling cold and constant in my chest. "I need help. Please. I don't know anyone else here."

There was a pause, and then Ava's voice sharpened, fully awake now. "Sophie, slow down. Where are you right now?"

I told her everything I could manage between broken breaths.

"Okay," she said finally. "Okay. I'm flying back to London tomorrow anyway. I'll book you and your son on the same flight. But listen to me, how are you supposed to even get out of that house? You said they're watching you."

"They're burying my husband tomorrow. At the cemetery. Everyone will be there, focused on that. It's our only chance."

"Alright." Ava's voice was steady now, the practical calm of someone used to solving problems under pressure. "Don't bring anything. No bags, no luggage, nothing that slows you down. Just passports, you and him. I'll be waiting."

"Thank you," I whispered, and the relief that flooded through me was so sharp it hurt. "Thank you, Ava. I don't know what I would've done."

"Just be careful," she said, quiet now. "Really careful, Sophie."

I barely slept after that call, my mind running through every possible way it could go wrong.

………

By morning, the house was already moving, hushed and busy, everyone dressing for the burial. I slipped into Amira's room while she was distracted down the hall, grabbing an abaya and two scarves from her wardrobe, my heart in my throat the entire time.

I heard her footsteps returning and pressed myself flat against the wall behind the door, holding my breath until she passed into the bathroom, giving me just enough time to slip out unseen.

At the cemetery, the crowd gathered around Zayn's grave, heads bowed, voices low in prayer. I held Rayyan's hand and waited for the moment everyone's attention fully left me.

It came quickly. I pulled him gently to the edge of the gathering, wrapping the scarf tightly around his head. "Baby, listen to me," I whispered, my voice shaking. "We're going to play a quiet game, okay? You can't make a single sound until I tell you. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded, eyes wide, sensing the fear in my voice even if he didn't understand it.

I pulled the abaya over my own clothes and we moved along the far edge of the cemetery, slow, deliberate, just another woman and child among mourners. Ava's car was waiting exactly where she said it would be, engine already running.

I saw Khalil's eyes sweep past us once, and for one breathless second I thought we'd made it, he'd registered nothing but a woman and her daughter walking away.

Then, right as we reached the car door, Rayyan's scarf slipped.

Khalil's head turned sharply. I saw the exact moment recognition hit him, his eyes widening, his mouth already forming my name.

"Go, go, go!" I shoved Rayyan into the car and threw myself in after him, slamming the door as Ava hit the accelerator, tires screeching against the pavement.

Behind us, I saw Khalil sprinting toward another vehicle, shouting orders, his men scrambling into motion.

The car surged forward onto the road, and in the mirror, headlights swung out behind us in pursuit.