Jehan had been inside Ruqaiya’s office before, but not since he’d wriggled his way into the premiership and asked her to be his deputy. It hadn’t changed much, from what he could see.

It was still white, spotless, and vaguely intimidating. The large, ivory desk still stood at the center of the room, littered with the whimsically multi-colored writing pads.

Ruqaiya pointed a remote at the flat-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall and pressed the power button. Jehan turned in his chair as the device flared to life.

“How is it your office is so much nicer than mine?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the TV.

“Cause I’m not in the habit of burning my workplace to the ground.”

“Way to blame the victim.” He shook his head sadly. “So, what’s this meeting about?”

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Ruqaiya said nothing, just flicked through the channels until she found the one she was looking for. A handsome man in a gray blazer sat behind a desk, reading out the headlines of the day.

“The guy they arrested for Badal’s murder has retracted his statement,” Ruqaiya said after a few seconds, as the news anchor moved on to the next story. “He now says he was forced into making a false confession.”

“Who forced him?”

“Says he doesn’t know. Apparently, his...clients never talked to him in person.”

“Or they paid him well enough to induce selective amnesia. Either way, this should buy us the time we need. Rinisa’s backpedaling hard. We spooked her, alright.”

“Which could be a double-edged sword, for all we know,” she said gravely. “You’ll have to be very careful once you get to Maralana.”

Jehan batted his eyelashes. “Aww, Ruqaiya, are you saying you’re worried about me?”

She rolled her eyes and rose from her seat, to pour him a steaming cup of his favorite tea. “I’m saying you don’t have a face that’ll look good carved in marble.”

Grinning, he raised his cup. “I’ll drink to that.”