Khalid drove home under a bruised, cloudless sky. He counted the money twice. Ten thousand on top of the usual fee. In one week, that was seventy thousand. In a month, three hundred thousand.
Khalid looked out his window. Two men in a black sedan were parked across the street. They’d been there since dawn.
That was the trap, he realized. The daily ten thousand wasn't a reward. It was a leash.
He didn't look up when the café door creaked open. He just sipped his tea, counted to twenty, then slipped the phone into his jacket and walked out the back exit.
Ten thousand extra per day. Agreed.
But the phrase echoed in his head: mtabyn — agreed upon. Who agreed? He hadn’t signed anything. He hadn’t even met the people above Samir.