Chapter 111

He could see the subtle changes in Sohrab’s posture since his return from Russia: the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked away a fraction too quickly, the careful choice of words. Sohrab took longer than usual whenever Burhan asked him a question. Burhan’s gut feeling had been nagging at him for days now, a quiet, persistent warning that something was not quite right.

Sohrab was the son of the man who had once been closest to Burhan’s father Ammar, almost like family. He had stood by Burhan through every storm, every betrayal, every loss. When Burhan lost his father, Sohrab had lost his own father, Durrab, and his brother, Taimoor, in the same brutal war against Moosa’s family. They had bled together, grieved together, built something out of the ashes. Yet even that shared history had never been enough to earn Burhan’s complete, blind trust.

People said Burhan did not even trust his own shadow, and they were not wrong. Trust was a luxury he could no