The North Wing of the dormitories had a different smell. It wasn't the faint scent of mildew and old varnish that clung to the Red Card corridor, but a neutral, clean odor of industrial floor wax and fresh paint. Zaid found Room 314 and swiped his new green card. A soft, confident beep greeted him, and the lock clicked open with a satisfying solidity.
He stepped inside, letting his duffel bag slide from his shoulder to the floor with a soft thud. The room was silent, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking it in.
It wasn't Fares's room. There was no plush carpet, no minimalist designer furniture, no private balcony overlooking the gardens. It also wasn't the room he'd shared with Bassam.
The plaster on the walls was smooth and uncracked. The ceiling was a uniform white, no water
