(Karen’s POV – Present Tense)

By the time Tariq arrives, the sky has turned violet — that uneasy in-between hour when day hasn’t quite died but night hasn’t fully claimed the city either.

He doesn’t knock; he just walks in, eyes sharp, movements economical. “You said it was urgent,” he says, tossing his jacket on the couch.

“It is.”

I hand him Yasmin’s journal, the pages folded, edges worn. He scans the first few lines, brows knitting together.

“She wrote about ...