"..."
Malik's lips parted, but no words came.
"Where is he?"
Layla demanded, pushing herself up.
Her body ached, her head was spinning, but none of it mattered.
"Malik—where is my father?!"
His hands clenched at his sides.
"Layla, just listen—"
"Where is he?!"
A voice outside murmured something. Then another. Then another.
Whispers. Rumors. A trickle turning into a flood.
And finally, someone spoke:
"He's dead."
The world cracked.
Layla's breath caught in her throat.
"What…?"
"He killed him."
Another voice hissed.
"Ali Baba killed hundreds of them bastards and then Malik—he—he—"
"No."
Malik shook his head, taking a step toward her.
"That's not what happened. Just let me—"
She stumbled back.
"You—?"
A crowd was forming just behind Malik in the medic hall, muttering, glaring, whispering amongst themselves. Their eyes' weight pressed against her chest like a boulder.
"After Malik ran away with the body, the villagers found it in a coffin."
