The grand central living hall of the Khan Mansion was steeped in an uncomfortable, heavy silence. Sunlight poured through the massive arched stained-glass windows, casting long, jewel-toned hues across the polished white marble floor and the opulent velvet sofas where the family had gathered.

At the head of the lounge sat Dadi, her aged hands resting atop her carved wooden walking stick, her sharp eyes filled with a mix of quiet anticipation and worry. Beside her sat Mariam Bibi, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Ali and Idris stood near the grand archway, their posture rigid, acting as silent guardians.
The heavy mahogany doors at the end of the grand staircase clicked open.