We spentthe next few hours doing homework.
Since the ordeal with Rashid, Prime had been homeschooling Yusef with help from the family and various tutors—couldn’t risk sending him back to regular school, not with everything that had happened. So I sat with him at the dining room table, working through algebra problems and reading comprehension passages, pretending everything was normal.
It wasn’t. But pretending helped.
Yusef was smart. Scary smart. The kind of smart that made you realize he was always watching, always processing, even when he couldn’t speak. He flew through his assignments, only pausing occasionally to show me his work, his eyes asking for approval.
“Perfect,” I told him each time. “You’re doing amazing.”
And he was. Despite everything.
Around noon, I made lunch—just some sandwiches and fruit from what Justice had stocked in the fridge. We ate together at the table in comfortable silence, Yusef sketching between bites, me scrolling through my phone pretending I wasn’t refreshing for updates about Zainab every thirty seconds.
Justice had left for the office hours ago, dropping the girls at school and preschool on his way. Said he had meetings he couldn’t miss—something about the casino permits and lawyers. He’d be back by dinner.
So it was just me and Yusef. The house too big. Too quiet.
The afternoon stretched on. I stayed with him, watching him sketch in another notebook, the drawings dark and abstract but somehow beautiful.
At six o’clock, his phone buzzed with a reminder.
Sloane - Video Session - 6:00 PM
He looked at me, something vulnerable in his expression.
“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll be right out here if you need me.”
He nodded and retreated to the guest room, closing the door behind him.
I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the muffled sound of Sloane’s voice through the door, warm and patient. Then I forced myself to walk away. To give him his privacy. His space to heal.
I wandered into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter.
The house was too quiet. Too empty. Just me and my thoughts and a thirteen-year-old boy who couldn’t speak, alone in a mansion that felt more like a mausoleum.
Which was dangerous.
Because when I was alone, I started thinking about who put my sister in that cell. Who made that call. Who fed information to the cops and orchestrated her arrest at the worst possible moment.
Someone wanted her gone.
And when I found out who, I was going to make them regret the day they were born.
I’d already destroyed one man who hurt me. Left him bleeding and broken, missing pieces he’d never get back. I’d do it again without hesitation. Without remorse. Without a single prayer for forgiveness.The old Mehar would have been horrified.
The new Mehar? She understood that sometimes monsters were necessary to fight other monsters.
I was mid-thought, fingers tight around my water glass, when the doorbell rang.
I froze. Justice wasn’t expecting anyone—he would have mentioned it. And I didn’t know enough people in DC to have visitors.
The bell rang again.
I set the glass down and moved toward the front door, my hand instinctively going to my waistband before I remembered I wasn’t carrying. Stupid. I’d have to fix that.
I checked the video monitor by the door. A man. Tall. Alone. Holding what looked like a folder.
I’d seen him at the grand opening yesterday. Standing near the back of the crowd. Justice had dapped him up. Quest too. Family, I’d assumed. One of the cousins Prime had mentioned in passing.
