I saw his jaw clench. The car bounced as he raced over a pothole, slamming my shoulder against the backseat.

“Did you kill them?” I moaned, trying to push myself to sitting.

“Get down!” he snarled. I heard a click, the unmistakable cocking of a pistol. I obeyed, slipping back to the floor of the car.

This was a side of Shair I’d never seen—one that, perhaps, had not existed just a week ago.

“You must be quiet. Be very quiet!”

As he steered away from the palace, the sharp smell of smoke did not fade. I pictured all of Kabul in shambles, the whole world ending abruptly.

With every turn, I eyed the handle of the door, preparing for the moment when I could leap from the car and tumble out. But the car never slowed, and when it did stop, Shair hopped out and opened the back door before I could get my bearings.

I tried to spring past him, but he caught me with one arm and hissed that I’d be making a big mistake if I didn’t obey.

Once he’d confirmed there were no onlookers, he pulled me into the stairwell of one of the apartment buildings. I recognized the apartment complex and felt my chest swell with hope. I had an uncle who lived nearby. I just needed to get to him. Moonlight cast eerie shadows on the concrete landings. He opened the door on the third floor and pushed me into an apartment, much to the surprise of the woman inside.

“Wha-what is this?” she asked, bewildered.

“No one” was his curt reply.

The woman blinked slowly, as if her eyes were adjusting to a dark space. She looked at my gashed foot, which was tracking blood onto the carpet.

“He’s a killer!” I shouted. Shair and I glared at each other for a beat, nostrils flaring. He took a step, looming over me.

“Why is she calling you a killer?” she demanded.

“She’s a child of misfortune,” he declared, looking at me. “And she will be quiet.”

“Misfortune? Do you mean she’s an orphan?”

I was not an orphan. I have a mother and a father, I wanted to say, but my tongue knotted in my mouth.

The woman crouched in front of me, trying to make sense of the situation.

“My God,” she said as she looked me over, her face aghast. She raised her hand to touch me, but gasped when I slapped her hand away.

“Tahera, stitch her foot. Then wash and feed her. She should sleep.”

“Stitch her foot? I’m not a doctor! You can’t expect me to—”

Shair pulled the apartment door closed behind him and brought the conversation to an abrupt end. Tahera ran to the balcony and stared into the street, muttering frantically. She spun around and, as if she’d hoped I would have disappeared when she had her back to me, cursed.