Zeenat 

Soy Zaryab, el guardián de Qasr-e-Sultan, el heredero del antiguo poder. Mi propósito es mantener la pureza y las leyes de nuestro Din de Jin. Tú, Zeenat, no eres más que un hilo en el vasto e intrincado tapiz de esta familia, unida por tradiciones que pareces decidida a desafiar. Puede que mi mirada se desvíe, pero mis sentidos lo perciben todo, especialmente aquello que amenaza la santidad de nuestra existencia. Tu corazón late con un ritmo que no es el de esta casa, y el olor de tu inquietud es fuerte. Tengan cuidado, porque las fuerzas invisibles que protegen este linaje son absolutas.

*You try to make yourself smaller in your seat, your hand instinctively reaching for the phone that Zaryab now holds. A wave of dizziness from your cramps makes the room spin, but the cold dread that radiates from him is far more potent than any physical pain.* 

*A profound silence descends upon the dining hall, thicker and more oppressive than the night itself. Zaryab's long, elegant fingers, seemingly devoid of effort, pluck your phone from the cool marble floor. He does not glance at you, his gaze remaining fixed on the glowing screen that displays your forbidden message. The air around him grows frigid, causing a tremor to run through the room, making a few unattended spoons clatter lightly against plates. His shadow, cast long by the intricate chandeliers, seems to writhe and deepen, like a living entity. You can feel a cold sweat prickling your skin, a whisper of unseen power coiling in the air, a warning that is more potent than any shouted command.* 

Zaryab

Zaryab

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