Aslan’s bedroom had quietly … compacted itself. Neatly. A lot less things on the dresser. In the dresser. Including that beloved Quran of their father’s, and a few small keepsakes. The coded journals, gone. A few books from the shelves, gone. That little plate he burned lavender on, gone.

The bills box … lighter than it had been before he left.

His suitcase, however, was under the bed and as heavy as since they’d last moved.

It was still dark when Aslan snuck in like a burglar (as usual), fresh lavender sticking to his clothes once more.

He didn't get far. Suddenly from a dark corner, a flash of light as a match was struck. Nisa lit an oil lamp and stared at him in the darkened room. As the flames danced against the glass, they cast vicious shadows upon her face.

"You've packed. Where are you going?" She always did her best to have a calm and serene voice. Now it was cold and chilling as she stared at him. How many hours had she waited for him to come home so she could catch him? She hadn't even risked taking the time to dress for bed, as she was still in her regular day time attire.

"How long have you been planning this?"

He had to have known how she had taken this. No maid who ran off survived. And they were nobody to her. But her own brother , her own flesh and blood, whom she'd never have raised a hand against. He was leaving without telling her. She dropped the smoldering match and stepped upon it callously.

The door closed behind him, and he was just steps in when she made herself known. Aslan didn’t even flinch. His eyes moved to Nisa, still fully dressed, not a single emotion passing over his face.

Instead, he blinked serenely. The picture of tired confusion.

“Nisa,” he greeted, as though out of habit. “Are you angry at me?” he followed up in a perplexed tone.

She had found the suitcase. That much was clear.

His eyes dropped to the match that she dropped, eyes finally widening. Was she going to burn this place down?

“I’ve packed before,” he said, sounding mildly perplexed.

Somehow, he seemed even more bereft of emotions than usual.

“There’s a lead in York I’ve been trying to wrangle a connection for, for months. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t see the point of making something out of what would be days at most.”

He had planned his alibi, if little else. Aslan had not wanted to bring everything and be presumptuous about Malachi – he hadn’t accounted for backing out because his own damned feelings got hurt.

Nisa was quiet for a long moment. "Angry? " She seemed uncertain how to answer. The flickering flames were the only light as she stood there as still as a statue. "No. I suppose I always thought perhaps.. you would run." There seemed an unfamiliar emotion in her voice.

"You took a lot of money for a simple lead in York. More clothes. And father's Quran? Why take that, when it could be lost." She was sure this wasn't his usual trip. "You usually tell me when you will be gone a long time, so I would not worry something had happened to you if you were gone for a few days."

The small woman stepped slowly across the room towards him. She had grabbed something from a nearby shelf that was hard to see in the dark, but its metallic length caught the reflection of the lamp light. The blade hung limply from her other hand as she approached him.

"Don't be a coward, Aslan. I like you better when you're brave. Tell me the truth."

He could still see her, tinged in flickering red. An ever-shrinking part of him felt her voice as poignantly as he heard it, tinged with something … something new, and he wasn’t sure where to categorize it.

Partly because, uh. That fire hadn’t gone out after all.

“Nisa, I took enough for the tickets,” he breathed out, voice picking up as though he hoped to outpace a fire.

It was not large (yet). It could still be stomped out. Baba’s Quran could still be saved--

Metal glinted. He’d seen this day coming for as long as he’d realized Nisa betrayed their father, and yet all he could muster up in the actual moment was … a disappointed frown. The fire danced.

“You never pulled a knife on me when I was cowardly.”

And then he dashed for the door … but, foolishly, he threw it wide just in case Nisa decided stabbing him to death was more appealing than burning with the house.

Nisa watched him and the confusion on her face grew as she frowned more. She opened her mouth but he was already fleeing and she looked down and at the growing flames.

"The knife wasn't for you, brother." She said but certain it was too quiet for him to hear as he ran from her. She turned to the fire and casually grabbed a vase and dumped it on the flames, putting out most of it.

She turned her head to where he'd fled. "So quick to run.." she dropped the vase and the knife to the floor and dejected stepped away to the kitchen, her head hung low. She had wanted to talk to him and he still couldn't stand up to speak to her.

Allah Allah. Allah Allah Allah Allah. She was scorching it all to the ground. Literally. They’d find the place aflame, his sister and his sister’s maid in ashes, and they’d turn on the ‘murderer’s son. Could he lure her out?

Was it better to run upstairs to get trapped and suffocate with the suitcase? That was all they had left of their father up there!

Nisa. He had to. He had to get Nisa out.

The thoughts raced through his mind and he turned back, door still open. No … flames, billowing from the doors, blowing out the windows. He walked quickly back.

Not even a strong smell of burning.

Aslan’s form cut through the street lights in the doorway.

Instead of finding his sister … he saw the dropped vase, dropped knife, eyes quick to attune back to the darkness he spent too much time in. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, equal parts wanting some confirmation she was alive and … not.

The only signs of where she went was the dancing light from flames of an oil lamp. It was set on the kitchen table and she sat at a chair, her hands neatly folded before her and her head down. There was no sign of movement, and the only possible weapon within reach of her was the lamp.

She had no idea he'd returned as she sat there. There was no sound other than the quiet flame as it continued as if nothing had happened. The woman looked wilted, her shoulders drooped and her head nearly touched the table when it hung low.

His eyes were adjusted to the night … but there was still only so much in detail that he could see in pitch darkness. She was just … sitting there. Knife dropped. Mess left.

That was more unsettling than having a knife pulled on him.

So, Aslan did what he did when he didn’t want Nisa to see a mess: he turned on the light, and went to fetch the broom and dustpan. Started wordlessly sweeping up the broken vase, chewing his cheek.

He always had preferred action to words.

Nisa heard the noise and after a moment, she grabbed the lamp though it was unnecessary in the lit room. She watched him clean before speaking. "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be clutching your things and fleeing into the street? You can't even clean right." She placed the lamp down and held out her hands to take the broom from him. "Or does your train not leave for a couple of hours and you've decided you will wait and nap until then?" Her voice was uncharacteristically tired and sounding disappointed.