Chapter 113 Plotting Her Return

• The morning sun filtered weakly through the floor-length curtains of the Kareem residence, casting soft gold streaks across the long mahogany dining table. The room was unusually quiet—oppressively so. Not the comfortable kind of silence, but the heavy, sharp-edged kind that seemed to sit on everyone’s shoulders.
• The table was laid out in its usual grandeur. Silver trays steamed with fresh yam porridge, grilled plantains, fluffy scrambled eggs, and freshly baked rolls. A glass jug of zobo rested beside a ceramic teapot still releasing wisps of heat. The cook had done her part, but appetite was not something anyone had brought to the table.
• Zara sat at the far end, her back straight, arms resting lightly on either side of her plate, her fork untouched. Her eyes stayed fixed on the rim of her glass, tracing the droplets of condensation slowly trailing down its side. Every now and then, her jaw clenched slightly—barely visible, but unmistakably tense to anyone who dared look closely.