The sound of shattering glass and the cold, deadly efficiency of Rayyan's entrance gun drawn, guards mobilized had ripped the last shreds of normalcy from Ishaal's life. She stood rigid by the piano, the adrenaline crash leaving her weak, but her resolve hardening.
"A tracker?" she repeated, the word laced with pure disbelief and fury. "You placed a device on me without my consent?"
Rayyan holstered the weapon. He looked at the broken window, then at the terror and anger on her face. He was a man who knew he was despised but had just won a necessary battle.
"Yes," he stated simply, his voice low. "And if I hadn't, you would be gone. My enemy's men don't leave notes or break glass for fun, Ishaal. They make statements. You were the statement they were coming to make."
He nodded to his head guard. "Clean it up. Secure the building."
As the guards moved with practiced silence, Rayyan stepped toward her, the tone shifting from cold protector to demanding strategist. "Enough running. We are past games. That man tried to take you tonight because he believes you are holding something he wants. Something your father, Dr. Zafar Meer, died protecting two years ago."
Ishaal's breath hitched. To hear that name, that pain, spoken in this dark room, linked to murder and Rayyan's war, felt like a violation.
"My father's death was ruled an accident," she whispered, her voice fragile.
Rayyan's eyes were sharp and unforgiving. "Raabistan's records are only as truthful as the highest bidder. The fire was not an accident, Ishaal. It was an execution, ordered by my rival, after your father refused to hand over his research."
The two-year-old lie shattered.
"The research," Rayyan pressed, seizing the moment of her shock. "My rival is convinced that before the fire, your father gave the secret to you."
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "You were right about me," he confessed, his voice a low, gravelly sound. "I own to survive. But I'm not doing this for a deal, Ishaal. I'm doing this because that man is insane, and his moves risk the balance of this entire city. And now, you are the trigger."
Rayyan reached out and gently lifted her hand. "Tell me your inheritance, Ishaal. What did your father hide? What is the secret that a man like him is willing to start a war for?"
Ishaal knew she had to speak the truth she had guarded since childhood.
"He didn't give me a document or a key," she finally said, pulling her hand back and walking to the piano. "He gave me a lullaby."
Rayyan's eyebrow arched. "A song?"
"Not just a song," Ishaal clarified. She placed her fingers on the cold keys. "The melody itself is the encrypted code. He made me memorize every note, every chord. He said it was the one thing my rival would never think to listen to."
Rayyan's eyes held a cold, calculated admiration. "A musical key. Brilliant."
He walked to her, stopping right behind her at the piano bench, his presence a wall of heat and dangerous power. He placed his hands on the smooth, polished wood on either side of her, trapping her.
"Now, tell me," he whispered, his voice dangerously close to her ear. "Where in this wretched city did your father tell you to sing that lullaby?"