***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik barely made it three steps before he stopped.
Because there he was.
A boy that lived in his every nightmare.
A boy who had never left his thoughts even for a second.
Sinbad.
His little brother.
He sat on a toppled crate, hands on his knees, head tilted ever so slightly, watching him with that quiet, knowing look.
The weight of every mistake, every decision, every choice was reflected back at him in those pink eyes.
They held no judgment—just expectation.
Jasmine stood beside him.
Unlike Sinbad, she didn’t just look at him.
She saw him. Her soft face twisted in disappointment.
It was obvious what she wanted.
Malik sighed, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off their stares.
“Fine.”
***
{Outside The Projection}
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Yeah.
Yeah, they felt like idiots.
All that talking.
All that condemnation.
It all didn’t mean shit now.
Nobody wanted to say it, so they shut up.
Not out of respect but out of sheer embarrassment.
Every last one of them had been so damn sure.
So certain they had everything figured out.
Only to get blindsided.
They couldn’t even be mad about it.
Malik had proved them wrong once more.
They really should’ve been used to this by now.
Well… at least they hadn’t stooped to a certain someone’s level.
Who was that? One might ask.
Their hero.
Poor, poor Zafar.
Man couldn’t even look at the projection anymore.
Just stood there, mimicking Safira’s current state, staring at the ground, wishing he could fade into it.
This all felt like a repeat of that moment.
The beginning of this mess, when Malik had first met the ‘cute little ones.’
A sick joke.
A joke forced upon them.
Because yeah, it wasn’t just him that had regressed.
It was all of them.
The entire damn hall.
Like a classroom full of kids getting scolded for thinking they were smarter than the teacher.
At the front, however?
The ones who should’ve reacted the most?
The ones who should’ve had something to say?
Nothing.
Not a damn word.
Each one was trapped in their own little world.
Safira was the worst of them, followed by Layla, Huda, surprisingly Azeem, Noor, and, of course, Roya.
Safira just stared; Layla’s sniffling remained, and Huda still draped across Crimson’s back.
Any of these three, as well as Noor, would’ve clowned the Hell out of Zafar for those thoughts, but, fortunately for him, they weren’t thinking about him at all.
And honestly?
That was the only mercy Zafar was getting today.
***
{Inside The Projection}
The word barely left Malik’s lips before he moved.
One step.
One breath.
One second.
And it was over.
The thugs barely had time to register what was happening before he was in their midst, weaving through them, a blade slicing through flesh.
The first man fell with a clean cut through his throat.
The second barely turned his head before Malik’s Spine Splitter met his spine.
The last struggled for a moment—one heartbeat, two—before Malik drove his blade into his chest, twisting just so, ending it quick.
They crumpled.
Blood seeped into the sand.
Malik sighed, flicking the blood off his blade before sheathing it.
His gaze drifted downward.
Faqir was still breathing.
His son was not.
Stepping back, Malik leaned against a Shams-bleached cart and watched as Faqir crawled toward Yusuf’s body.
He pulled the boy into his lap, cradling him, rocking gently, humming an old tune.
No sobs. No wails. Just that soft melody.
Malik clicked his tongue, yanked a waterskin from one of the thugs’ belts, and tossed it at Faqir’s feet.
“Should’ve kept your mouth shut.”
Faqir grabbed it but didn’t look up.
His fingers brushed Yusuf’s brow as he poured water on his face, wiping away the blood, smoothing his hair.
“Should’ve what? Let them ruin our city?”
His voice was hoarse.
“Yusuf… he knew the cost.”
Finally looking up at him, his cracked lips pulled into a bloody grin.
“So? You gonna lecture me? Or just stand there judging?”
Malik didn’t answer, only stared at the boy’s face—too young, too still.
“Why’d you bring him out here?… Even if he ‘knew the cost,’ you shouldn’t have.”
Faqir chuckled, bitter, hollow.
“Same reason you’re hiding from them… whoever they are.”
He stroked Yusuf’s hair, his bloody fingers leaving streaks across the boy’s temple.
“Stupidity… Love. But me? Also pride.”
Malik’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before he knelt a second time, picking up a dagger from one of the fallen thugs.
He drove it into the sand beside Faqir, deep, the hilt trembling slightly from the force.
“Bury them before the birds come.”
Faqir laughed in response, a dry, cracked laugh.
“And then what? Run to Nasir? Hide for the rest of my life? I can’t preach anymore. I don’t even know if my son will live to see tomorrow. Either way, they’ll kill me and my family before then.”
Malik turned away, hands held on his lower back, eyes fixed on the sky.
“Heroes die screaming.”
Whether those words were to Faqir or himself, he didn’t know.
But he knew one thing.
He wasn’t going to be responsible for another life again.
If he held any love for the man, he’d better keep him as far away as possible.
This was the right decision.
Plus, he was now picking the side that’d piss off Ayan the most.
Could he have gone about it differently?
More direct, more brutal? Absolutely.
But why settle for a single strike when he had the option to drag it out?
Stopping their expansion, throwing a wrench into their carefully laid plans—that was a good start.
***
{Outside The Projection}
Faqir knew.
He knew none of this on the projection really mattered.
Technically speaking, none of it ever happened.
Not to them.
Not in this reality.
But that didn’t mean a damn thing to his heart.
Because right now, as he stood there, watching it all unfold—
Faqir felt something he never thought he’d feel.
Something impossible.
Something that should’ve pissed him off.
He felt—
Grateful.
God help him; he felt grateful.
Faqir gritted his teeth as a storm of emotions twisted through him.
This wasn’t right.
He hated Malik.
Hated him with every fiber of his being.
The man was a bastard, a fucking menace that refused to die.
He was everything Faqir despised.
And yet, despite all that rage, all that bitterness, all that deep, unrelenting hatred—
He couldn’t ignore the truth.
Yeah, Malik hesitated.
Yeah, that moment of doubt nearly got his brother killed.
Or perhaps it did.
But that wasn’t on him.
Malik wasn’t responsible for saving them.
It wasn’t his burden to bear.
It wasn’t his duty to step in.
And yet—
He still did.
He still moved.
He still acted.
And because of that?
Faqir’s older brother was alive.
Despite the years of hate—
“Goddammit it.”
He was grateful.
“Fucking dammit.”
He was grateful.