Tariq led them through a maze of crumbling alleys to a small, battered door. The smell of sickness and despair hit them before they even stepped inside. The single room was dark and damp, a makeshift curtain separating the sleeping area. On a thin mattress on the floor, three small children lay listlessly, their breathing shallow and raspy. Their eyes were too big for their thin faces, and the shape of their bones was visible under their skin.
In a corner, a woman who looked like a ghost from exhaustion tried to quiet a newborn’s weak cries. She barely had the strength to rock the baby. There was no food in sight. Only a single, empty pot sat by a cold hearth.
Jawad stopped in the doorway, his usual tough exterior completely shattered. He just stared, his jaw clenched tight. Ayham turned
