“He won’t,” I say, more confidently than I feel. “He needs to look at me to do that, and he won’t. He thinks I’m human, and humans are beneath his notice.”

“If you don’t return in ten minutes, I am screaming the house down,” Widad warns me before I go.

Perhaps she changes her mind about staying behind, but Widad comes at least halfway with me. She hides in an empty sitting room while I willingly walk into the monster’s mouth.

I know, all right? This may not be the best idea I’ve had, but if I walk away right now, I will always wonder if I missed something that would have helped me help Taraana, help us. I am cobbled together by foolish ideas and reckless behavior. It has kept me alive so far.

Baarish’s voice bids me enter when I knock, so I open the door with one hand and awkwardly maneuver my way into the study. One of Baarish’s sons—I recognize him from the portrait—is in the room with him, and I freeze, wondering if I should have brought another cup, but no one pays any attention to me. I put the tray on the desk, glance at Baarish, and turn to go. I am almost at the door when Baarish speaks.

“Girl.” The scream I keep in my throat is almost out of my mouth, but I manage to keep my lips closed until it is pressed down again.

“Ji, sarkar?” I turn around, my heart pounding.

“Is there sugar in the tea?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” I reply in my most subservient voice.

He nods and waves at me to leave. It takes me three steps to get out of the study, but I don’t leave the area. Instead, I stand right next to the door and press my ear against it in the conventional eavesdropping pose.

Baarish doesn’t look like a monster at home. He is wearing a cotton white shalwar kameez, looking like someone’s grandfather. It is difficult to believe that someone who looks as benign as he does could torture Taraana.

Baarish and his son talk about people I am not familiar with for a long while. I am wondering if I should leave when Baarish’s son mentions Taraana.

“Abba, did you really find that boy?” The man’s voice is muted through the door. It is obvious who the subject of their conversation is.

“I saw him, but I wasn’t able to capture him. He has found some girls to hide behind,” Baarish says, the scorn in his voice loud and clear. “He will return to me eventually. How can he escape?”

“What if he does? What if one of the others catches him first?” The man sounds anxious.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” Baarish says. His words are nothing less than a command. “What was the cause of the disturbance yesterday?”