The man drew closer. He was short in stature, with thick, bristly hair. Despite being magnified by black-rimmed spectacles, his eyes were small and squinty, reminding Rania of a mole emerging from its burrow.

“Well, you’re here now.” He waved them toward a tall staircase. “So let’s carry on.”

Rania felt a twist of self-loathing. No timid mole would have the courage to be here, in defiance of the regime. He led them to a balcony ringing the second floor, then paused near a low door set in a brick alcove. Scores of identical alcoves ran along the perimeter of the Khan Murjan, leading to dormitories that once sheltered travelers and students at the nearby mosque.

“You look familiar,” said Rania. “Have we met before?”

“For obvious reasons, I try to avoid giving out personal details. I usually ask people to call me Kareem.” He paused, his eyes probing hers. “But I believe you once knew my brother.”

“You don’t mean . . .” Rania peered at him. Those eyes. That hair. “You’re not Ahmed’s brother, are you?”

He nodded soberly. Rania bent her head.

“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.