Two weeks had passed since the Princess of the Jinn had traded her throne for a dish rag.
In the grand, burning cosmos, two weeks meant nothing. But in the small, dusty ecosystem of Fatima's tea stall, it was a lifetime.
Sumayra—now fully living as 'Sara'—had learned. She learned that tea must be boiled until it turned the color of dark amber. She learned that laborers were grumpy before noon and generous after sunset. And she learned that if you stacked the glass tumblers in a pyramid, they dried faster.
But mostly, she learned about Ayon.
She watched him constantly. It had become her favorite pastime. She watched how he moved with a conservation of energy that bordered on laziness, yet never wasted a step. She watched how he listened to people—really listened—making a beggar feel like a king for five minutes.
They had found a rhythm. A domestic dance of silence. He would hand her a dry cloth before she even asked. She would place a stool for him when his leg seemed stiff.
It was simple. It was quiet. And to Sumayra's utter horror, she loved it.
"You are staring again," Ayon said, not looking up from the mound of ginger he was peeling.
Sumayra jumped, nearly dropping a tray. "I am not. I am... inspecting your work. You missed a spot on that root."
Ayon held up the perfectly peeled ginger. "You have the eyes of a hawk, Sara. Or perhaps you just enjoy looking at my hands."
Sumayra felt a heat rise in her neck that had nothing to do with the stove. "Your ego is larger than this stall, Ayon."
"It is the only thing I own that is large," he quipped, his eyes twinkling.
"Less flirting, more working!" Fatima shouted from the back, slapping a dough ball onto the counter. "The mid-day rush is coming!"
They both smiled. It was a comfortable, perfect moment.
And then, the sunlight died.
It wasn't a cloud. It was a man standing in the doorway.
The chatter in the stall died instantly. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of cheap musk and old sweat.
Bilal Khan, the Warden, had returned.
He hadn't been seen since the day he destroyed Ayon's cart. He walked in with his usual rolling swagger, his massive belly straining against a silk vest, flanked by two thuggish guards who looked at the customers with predatory boredom.
He didn't look at Ayon. He walked straight to the counter where Fatima was counting coins.
"Fatima!" Bilal boomed. His voice was wet and heavy, like sludge. "Business looks good. Very good."
Fatima's hands shook. She quickly slid the coin box under the counter. "Greetings, Warden. It is... acceptable. Just enough to buy flour."
"Flour is expensive," Bilal said. He leaned over the counter, invading her personal space. He picked up a fresh bun, took a bite, and chewed slowly, crumbs falling onto Fatima's ledger. "And so is protection. You are late with your levy, old woman."
"I paid last week!" Fatima protested, her voice shrill with fear.
"That was for last week's safety," Bilal sneered. "This is a new week. The price has gone up. There have been... incidents in the market. Fires. Robberies. Accidents."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "You wouldn't want an accident here, would you, Fatima? Old wood burns so fast."
It was a naked threat.
Sumayra stood by the washing tub. Her hands clenched into fists so tight her knuckles turned white. The water in the tub began to bubble and hiss, reacting to the heat of her fury.
This insect, she thought, her Jinn blood boiling. He dares to threaten an old woman? I will turn his blood to vinegar. I will boil him in his own sweat.
She took a step forward. Her eyes began to glow with a faint, dangerous silver light. She raised a hand, ready to snap her fingers and break every bone in Bilal's body.
A hand grabbed her wrist.
It was Ayon.
His grip was firm, grounding. He didn't look at her; he was watching Bilal.
"No," Ayon whispered. His voice was so low only she could hear it.
"Let me go," Sumayra hissed, trembling with rage. "I can end him. He is vermin."
"If you use force," Ayon whispered, "you prove him right. You create fear. And tomorrow, he will come back with ten men. Or he will burn the stall in the night when we are not here."
"So we do nothing?" she demanded. "We let him rob her?"
Ayon turned to her. His eyes were calm, dark pools.
"Who said we do nothing?" he smiled. But it wasn't his gentle smile. It was a sharp, clever smile. The smile of a fox watching a slow chicken. "We just don't use fists. Watch."
He released her hand.
Ayon picked up a large metal tray. He grabbed a heavy spoon.
And then, he did something insane.
He walked right into the center of the stall, directly behind Bilal Khan, and banged the tray loudly.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The noise was deafening. Everyone jumped. Bilal spun around, his hand going to the dagger at his belt. "What the—?"
Ayon beamed. He raised his hands, addressing the entire crowded market like a town crier.
"ATTENTION! ATTENTION EVERYONE!" Ayon shouted, his voice full of joy and celebration.
The crowd turned. People from the street stopped. A crowd began to gather, drawn by the spectacle.
"We have a blessing today!" Ayon announced, gesturing grandly to the confused Warden. "Our noble Warden, Bilal Khan, has seen our hard work! He has seen the heat! He has seen the thirst of the common people!"
Bilal blinked, confused. "What are you babbling about, fool?"
Ayon ignored him, pitching his voice louder, making sure the laborers outside heard him.
"In his infinite generosity," Ayon roared, "The Warden has decided to celebrate his... his promotion! He has declared that tea is FREE for everyone for the next hour! All paid for by the generous Bilal Khan!"
The crowd went silent for a second.
Then, a cheer erupted. It started low and became a roar.
"Long live Bilal!"
"Free tea!"
A wave of fifty, maybe sixty burly, sweaty laborers surged toward the stall.
Bilal's face turned a magnificent shade of purple. "What? No! I didn't—"
"Oh, thank you, Warden!" Ayon shouted, grabbing Bilal's hand and shaking it vigorously before the man could draw his weapon. "Look at the joy on their faces! You are a saint! A true father of the people!"
Ayon turned to the crowd. "Line up! The Warden is paying! Order whatever you want! Buns! Cakes! The expensive tea with saffron!"
Bilal opened his mouth to scream. He wanted to shout 'No, I am here to rob this old woman!'
But he stopped.
He looked around. The laborers were cheering his name. They were smiling at him. They were clapping him on the back. For the first time in his miserable life, he wasn't being looked at with hatred, but with adoration.
If he refused now... if he stopped the free tea... the mood would turn instantly. The adoration would turn to mob violence. These men were tired and hungry. Taking away a gift would be a death sentence.
Bilal was trapped. Trapped by his own ego. Trapped by the crowd.
He looked at Ayon.
Ayon was wiping a table, smiling politely. But in his eyes, Bilal saw the steel trap snapping shut.
Play the hero, or play the victim. Choose.
Bilal swallowed his rage. It tasted bitter like bile. He forced a twisted, painful smile onto his face.
"Yes..." Bilal croaked, his voice strained. "Yes. Of course. For the... people."
The crowd roared again.
"Fatima!" Ayon called out, winking at the stunned old woman. "Start pouring! And keep a tab. The Warden will settle the bill in cash before he leaves!"
For the next hour, the stall was a carnival. Tea flowed like water. The expensive cakes were devoured.
Bilal stood in the corner, sweating profusely, watching his gold disappear down the throats of strangers. Every time he tried to leave, Ayon would shout, "Three cheers for the generous Warden!" and Bilal would be forced to wave.
By the time the crowd dispersed, the bill was astronomical.
Fatima, her hands shaking with suppressed laughter, presented the slate.
"That will be... fifty silver coins, Warden."
Fifty silver coins. It was five times the levy he had come to steal.
Bilal looked at the bill. He looked at Ayon.
He reached into his purse. His hands trembled with fury. He counted out the coins. Every single one.
He slammed the money onto the counter.
"A noble gesture," Ayon said softly, appearing at his elbow.
Bilal leaned in, his breath hot and foul. "You," he hissed. "You think you are clever, Clay Doll. You think you won."
"I am just a servant," Ayon replied, his face blank. "I just want the people to love you, Warden."
"Watch your back," Bilal whispered. "Accidents happen in the dark."
"They do," Ayon agreed pleasantly. "But today is a bright day. Goodbye, Warden."
Bilal stormed out, his pockets empty, his guards trailing behind him, confused.
The stall fell quiet.
Fatima looked at the pile of silver coins. She burst into laughter. She laughed until she cried. She grabbed Ayon and kissed his forehead.
"You devil!" she cackled. "You beautiful, mad devil!"
Sumayra stood by the washing tub. She hadn't moved. She watched Ayon.
He wasn't celebrating. He was calmly collecting the empty glasses.
She realized something profound.
She had wanted to burn Bilal. That would have brought war.
Ayon had used words. He had used the crowd. He had defeated the enemy without lifting a finger.
This, Sumayra thought, her mind reeling, is true power.
That night, they walked home under the starlight.
"You could have been killed," Sumayra said softly.
"Perhaps," Ayon admitted. "But did you see the laborers? They had saffron tea. They never get saffron tea. It was a good day."
Sumayra stopped. She grabbed his arm.
"You are not a simple man, Ayon," she whispered. "You are... dangerous."
Ayon looked at her hand on his arm.
"Only to those who bring darkness," he said.
"You wanted to burn him," Ayon noted, looking into her eyes.
"Yes," Sumayra admitted. "I wanted to turn him to ash."
"Fire cleanses," Ayon said gently. "But it also leaves scars. Sometimes, Sara... it is better to just plant a flower in the mud."
He gently removed her hand from his arm.
"Come. I will teach you how to make a proper omelet tonight. You cannot live on bread alone."
He walked ahead. Sumayra watched him go.
She touched her chest. Her heart was beating a rhythm she didn't recognize.
She had come to Earth to study a specimen. But as she followed him into the dark, she realized with a terrifying certainty:
I am not the one testing him anymore. He is teaching me.
And for the Queen of the Jinn, that was the most dangerous thing of all.