Salima stepped into her bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft thud.

The house was silent, the kind of heavy quiet that pressed in after a long, draining night.

She slipped off her earrings, setting them on the dresser, then reached for the zipper of her emerald blouse.

A knock echoed through the empty hallway—three sharp knocks on the front door downstairs.

She froze, hand still on the zipper. It was late. Too late for visitors.

Salima pulled a scarf tight around her shoulders and walked downstairs, bare feet silent on the marble. At the door, she paused, listening.

“Who is it?” she called, voice steady but...