“I pray that Allah keeps him close.”

He nodded and yanked on a thick bolt. The door opened a crack. The faint yellow light and oily stench of a kerosene lamp leaked into the hall.

“Wait here,” said Kareem, before slipping inside and pulling the door shut behind him.

Huda crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry for the loss of his brother.” Her eyes were cold as the ancient stones. “But at least his mother has the comfort of one son left alive.”

“That’s not fair. I—”

The door groaned behind them. Kareem beckoned for them to enter.

“We are ready for you.”

We? thought Rania. How many people are waiting inside? She was struck by visions of an inquisition, with murderous judges seated in a row. Why had she allowed Huda to bully her into this? If she refused to continue, would Huda really make good on her threats? The young girl she’d first met on the riverbank wasn’t that cruel. She had honor, more than her share. But Rania knew honor was a two-bladed sword. Loyalty on one side. Revenge on the other.

“Come on.” Huda nudged her forward. “They’re waiting for us.”

There was no panel of judges inside in the claustrophobic room, just one man with the chubby cheeks and white beard of Santa Claus. Still, Rania couldn’t shake the feeling it was an inquisition. She wasn’t worried by the black turban that marked the man as a Shi‘a cleric, or the fat turquoise prayer beads looped around his wrist. It was the judgmental look in his eye, as if he had already decided she was a sinner.

“Sit, sit.” Kareem waved the women toward two plastic stools, while he joined the cleric behind what appeared to be an old school desk. Gray smoke twisted from the kerosene lantern in the corner. “We don’t have much time, so please tell us what you need.”

Huda coughed and cleared her throat.

“I need a passport for my son,” she said. “Or the mukhabarat will put him in the fedayeen.”

“Why have the mukhabarat taken such an interest in your son?” Kareem eyed her curiously, but the cleric kept his eyes focused on the wall just a few inches above the women’s heads. “What’s so special about him?”

Huda blushed a painful red that spread from her cheeks down her neck and to her chest. She stared at the floor and mumbled that she was an informant spying on her boss’s wife, and the mukhabarat were using her son as leverage. A stitch of pity needled Rania’s ribs.

“Why didn’t you simply tell them you couldn’t do it?” said Kareem.

“Sir, you are a very educated man. From your accent, I can tell you come from a fine family. Probably like Rania, there is a boulevard with your surname.” Huda shifted on the stool. “I’ve no doubt you have suffered. Many great families have been pushed aside, and ignorant peasants from Tikrit have taken their place. Nonetheless, you are still someone. Someone who can say no and possibly live another day.”