Malik returned to Faqir's family after that.
They were off to the side, away from the main procession. Just under a cluster of cloth canopies, the kind thrown up last minute to give mourners somewhere to sit and break their backs from too much crying.
He hadn't meant to stop. He just wanted to leave a pouch. Maybe slide it into Faqir's wife's hand. Maybe leave it at her feet. Say a quiet goodbye. Then vanish again.
But…
He noticed.
He noticed what he should've long before now.
The family... they were only three...
THERE WERE ONLY THREE OF THEM.
There should've been four. Four. Four. Four. Not fucking three. FOUR.
The pale-faced widow was there, holding a boy in one arm and gripping her daughter's hand in the other. Right. The older boy was missing... Yusuf. That cute little Yusuf. He was missing. Where was he? Where was the boy?
Malik, silent as could be, slowly followed the widow's gaze.
They landed on coffins.
Two coffins.
Not one.
Two.
Side by side.
