Hanan had taken Issam to Azlan's house, which was empty. He could have taken him to his own house, but he did not want to grant Issam that kind of privilege.

They sat facing each other. Issam had both hands clenched into fists, resting on his knees. Hanan had always been strict with him, but today there was something else layered over that severity. He was serious in a way that felt heavier, colder. This version of Hanan was even more frightening than Shahnan in his anger. That was why Issam did not speak first. He waited, silent, while Hanan observed him closely, noticing every breath, every shift, every flicker of unease.