It was the month of Taurus, so I searched the sky for the mythical bull. But a noise on the lawn drew my attention to a cluster of uniformed soldiers. An army truck, its headlights dark, rolled into the long driveway that led to the main palace’s entrance. At the sound of footsteps in the hallway behind me, my stomach contracted. I pressed my back to the window and wondered who, besides me, was sleepless.

As I listened, I heard more than one set of footsteps. They started and stopped in unison. I held my breath, wondering if I was foolish to be afraid. These could be soldiers who guarded the palace day in and day out. Surely, they could overpower the handful of bad apples who had turned against us.

A series of sharp pops erupted, crackling through the night. I looked outside and saw soldiers dashing toward the palace. My palms were sweaty. Maybe the soldiers had come to tell the president of some breaking news. Surely, they would wake Boba too. If my parents woke to find me missing, they would worry. I took a couple of steps toward the library door.

There was a sudden explosion of gunshots, shrieks and shouts, and slamming doors. More gunshots rang through the palace halls. I ducked behind the curtain, pressing my back to the window. My throat swelled with a trapped scream.

I peeked out from behind the curtain. I had closed the door to our bedroom behind me and for a merciful split second, I was convinced that would be enough, that I had hidden my family from danger.

But I hadn’t.

The door to the bedroom flew open across the hall. I caught sight of my father—his shirt untucked and his glasses askew. I wanted to call his name, but I was frozen where I stood.

As soon as Boba stepped fully into the hallway, it looked like someone shoved him by one shoulder, then the other. The sound of gunfire registered a second later, and I watched my father’s body slump to the floor like a rag doll.

I understood immediately that he was gone. I looked back at the open bedroom door and saw my mother pressed against the far wall of the room, directly opposite me. Our eyes met. I signaled my mother to hide, to run, to find a way to escape the monster that was about to enter our room.

The air was thick as a storm cloud.

My mother let out a mournful groan. Her voice slipped into the hallway, past my father’s body, and settled, like a breath, in my ear. Mother swaddled Faheem with her body, her fingers covering his eyes. She tilted her head and looked at me longingly, lovingly, even as two looming silhouettes stepped into the frame and she recognized that this was not a night of mercy.