It was as if the walls themselves were suffocating. Night tightened its grip on the air, and Hussein's villa remained shrouded in its somber cloak, a mass of silent darkness rising above the ground like a vast tomb. In this stifling stillness, the house no longer felt like a dwelling, but rather a grave for anyone who dared enter.
At the edge of the garden, Miranda and Hussein stood hesitantly, their feet pressing down on the freshly tilled earth. The land could no longer accommodate one more burial; new mounds had risen. Beside the doorman lay his son, Ayman, and beside him, Hossam the carpenter. The air grew heavier, as if the very scent of death had seeped into the wind, scratching their throats and burning their lungs.
Meanwhile, Amal and Sophia headed towards the doorman's room, gri
