The reluctant vow
she demanded, her tone clipped and wary, each word heavy with guardedness.
Zara stepped forward, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. “Are you Matron Halimah?” she asked, voice trembling but polite. “We came all this way to speak with you… about Zainab.”
The name seemed to strike a chord. Halimah’s expression shifted almost instantly — confusion first, then recognition, and finally, cold hostility. Her eyes hardened, and her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.
“No,” she said sharply. “I have nothing to say to any of Chief Kareem’s people.”
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