Allah willing, Rifat is not there. Please, Rifat. Don’t be home.

The light of the interior hallway – cast outwards and onto Romeo as the house door was opened – told Mansour that his prayers had not been answered.

From where Mansour still lay, he could see Rifat’s profile as his younger brother stepped out of the door towards Romeo. Mansour climbed to his feet, keeping his body low and still in shadow. The pain that had wracked his lungs and chest, even the damage he had done to his knee, faded into nothing. His focus was now absolute.

Attack them, he thought. The worst possible plan, but the only option he could see. And give Rifat a chance to run.

He steadied himself, preparing to use whatever he had left to protect his brother.

His heart was beginning to race. He was ready.

And then he saw Rifat smile.

Just a small movement, but it made Mansour pause. Whatever was being said, it could not be the threats or the intimidation that Mansour had expected. Rifat was a small man, much shorter and thinner than his elder brother, and without Mansour’s experience of war. He was not difficult to intimidate, especially by a man as physically imposing as Romeo. And yet he was smiling.

The exchange, it seemed, was friendly.

Mansour’s racing heart began to slow. His adrenaline replaced by hope.

Maybe they do not hurt him, he thought. Maybe they leave him.

The innocent Mansour – the baggage handler who lived a peaceful life – began to believe. But deep down, there was another Mansour. The old Mansour. The man who had fought his way out of war and torment.

And that Mansour knew better how the world worked.

Romeo and Rifat’s conversation was coming to an end. It still seemed friendly, enough even for a polite handshake. As Mansour held his breath, he watched Romeo turn and begin to walk back down the steps.

For an instant, it seemed that Rifat would be OK.

And then that instant was over.

Rifat stayed put as Romeo and one of his companions walked down the steps, towards the street. He raised his hand in a friendly goodbye, and at the same time turned to look towards the man who had stayed.

Mansour saw confusion creep into his brother’s expression and in that moment he knew that he was too late – too far away – to stop what was about to happen. In one swift movement, Romeo’s man swept a hand across Rifat’s throat.

It was almost casual. But it was enough. Whatever the man was holding had done its job, and even from a distance Mansour could see the arterial spray fire into the air.

‘NO!’

The adrenaline came flooding back in an instant, expelled in a roar from the very pit of Mansour’s stomach.

‘AYREH FEEK!’

Shock. Rage. Grief. A combination of every primal reaction poured out as he stood up, clearly visible in the light of the nearest street lamp.