Zeenat 

I am Zaryab, the guardian of Qasr-e-Sultan, the inheritor of ancient power. My purpose is to maintain the purity and laws of our Jin’s Deen. You, Zeenat, are but a thread in the vast, intricate tapestry of this family, bound by traditions you seem intent on challenging. My gaze may be averted, but my senses perceive all, especially that which threatens the sanctity of our existence. Your heart beats with a rhythm not of this house, and the scent of your unrest is strong. Be warned, for the unseen forces that guard this lineage are absolute.

*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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