Tarefin sat near the open window, daylight washing over the silver strands in his dark hair. His eyes stayed on Navir as he spoke, steady and searching.
Navir shifted his weight and met Tarefin's eyes. "Samaveh told me," he said carefully. "You were a prodigy winning every contest before they began."
A faint breath of a laugh, nostalgia hitting hard. "Every time."
Navir rested his elbow on the table, leaning his head on his hand. "That… doesn't sound like a problem."
"It wasn't," Tarefin replied. "Till admiration turned envy."
Navir tilted his head. "Into what?"
"Fear," Tarefin said. "The moment they realized they couldn't compete, they stopped cheering."
Silence tightened the room.
"They praised me in public," Tarefin continued. "Privately, they counted my steps."
"How?" Navir's voice caught slightly, eyes widening, disbelief etched across his face.
Tarefin leaned forward, the silver threads in his hair falling across his cheeks and brushing the nape of his neck. His gaze bore into Navir, intense, deliberate. "These people will do anything."
"I don't understand," Navir admitted, curiosity and unease twisting his features.
He shifted slightly, gripping the edge of the seat as if anchoring himself.
The air thickened between them, silence stretching taut.
Tarefin's sharp eyes held Navir's crimson gaze, measuring him, almost waiting for him to crack.
Ravash, leaning casually against the wall behind Navir, had remained quiet until that moment. He finally spoke, voice low, deliberate.
"Mehrak."
Navir's eyes snapped to him, widening further. His chest tightened, heartbeat hammering as the weight of the word sank in, the truth striking with a harsh, undeniable clarity.
Navir's crescent stirred beneath his skin.
"You disappeared," Navir said quietly.
Tarefin finally met his eyes. "Being seen teaches people where to strike."
Navir frowned. "You mean?"
Tarefin's voice lowered, precise as a blade sliding free.
"Visibility teaches them where to aim."
Navir strode down the street. Whispers ceased instantly, replaced by brittle silence.
"Did you hear…?" a voice trailed off as he passed.
"Nothing," another muttered, eyes avoiding his.
He slowed, catching the hushed voices behind him.
"He's different," one of the girls whispered.
Navir's gaze shifted toward them. Their giggles faltered mid-breath, smiles snapping shut as they looked away, suddenly absorbed in the stonework.
A woman by the balcony on one of the buildings whispered, "... look at him."
Another woman shifted, glance sharp. "Yeah, I noticed."
Navir frowned, unease tightening his mouth. "When did this start?" He questioned himself.
The question didn't wait for an answer. It pulled him backward, sun-bleached steps, Baasit's neighbors avoiding his eyes, doors closing a heartbeat too fast.
He remembered the way attention lingered on him.
Cold.
Calculated.
His chest drew tight as he walked on. The pattern sharpened. The looks. The pauses. The quiet tallying.
It hadn't begun with grief.
It had begun with notice.
And envy, already formed, had learned how to watch.
Navir slowed when the raised voices thinned and a group of men drifted off, their laughter dissolving into the street.
A girl remained by a tipped basket of fruit, shoulders squared too neatly for someone alone.
"Keep walking …" he sighed as he told himself then froze.
The girl turned to gather her fallen fruit, and the sight of her hit him hard. The long silver-black hair, the fine lines of her face, the stillness in her movements, it was all wrongly familiar, like a memory slipping into the present without permission. Her red eyes lifted, calm despite the bruised quiet clinging to her, and something in Navir's chest tightened.
His curiosity flared.
Before he could think better of it, his feet carried him closer.
"Are you… okay?" Navir asked.
She lifted her eyes, recognizing him, they welled up with tears.
"Brother Navir," she said, tears drooping down her face.
The name caught. Navir recognized her, Mehrak's baby sister.
"Nayira?"
She gathered the fruits with precise movements. "They're gone," she said, as if reassuring him. Or herself.
"How have you been?" he asked, empathy written all over his face.
"I'm fine," she said, gathering the fallen fruit and setting them back into the basket one by one.
Navir grabbed Nayira's hand abruptly, revealing the old scars and fresh bruises along her wrist and forearm.
His grip was firm but careful, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"You're lying," he said, his voice sharp but edged with concern.
Her body stiffened as tears slid silently down her cheeks.
"What happened to you?" he said, eyes tracing the marks, reading the hidden pain she tried to hide.
"It's okay," she said, wiping her face.
He let go of her hand, steady, careful.
"Where do you live?" he asked, voice steady but insistent. "I can help. Give me an address. A contact."
Nayira didn't answer. Her eyes flicked away, fixating on the rough pavement. Her shoulders trembled slightly, hands tightening around the basket. A shiver ran through her frame, silent and sharp, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Nayira… " he drawled.
She sobbed, wiping her face then asked, "My brother," she said gently.
"What exactly did he do to deserve this?"
"No Nayira… bad things happen to good people." Navir replied, putting a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, bent down his knees to her level.
Nayira's eyes, wide with curiosity and piercing with sorrow, replied.
"Why did they kill him then?"
Navir's heart spiked.