“We survive as family," he had pleaded. ‘‘Our customs and traditions keep us together. You bring me honor when you care for me in our home, which is your workplace. But the world is my domain. I am a man and that is my place. We survive because we hold to what is established, safe-real. Our father would not wish it otherwise.”

That had been unwise, and Imran regretted it immediately. Appealing to the authority of their dead father was a low blow. Tears formed in Rani’s eyes at the mere mention, but she would not budge.

“Imran, brother, if I were only a nice little sari-wearing gopi in the kitchen I would have been dead two days ago. I would have walked up the street to buy chicken and fish and they would have ripped me apart. I’m alive because I am not like that.”

"If you had stayed at home where you belong, you would not have been walking the streets at night at all! Perhaps they were the sort of men who attack the kind of filthy women who do that. One of them was killed that very same night, did you know that?" His disapproval was strong, but she had a crushing rejoinder.

“Me? Take me as a streetwalker? Who’d have me? I’m an ork. Who’d pay to have my body?" As she shook with anger and hurt, his arguments evaporated instantly. They had transformed together, brother and sister, and that bond was too close for him not to register her pain. He rose and took her gently into his arms, hugging her gingerly, but he sensed the strength in Rani that allowed her to express hurts he’d never been able to face within himself.

"I want to go with you," she said softly. “I want to help.”

“Rani. Sister. I fear for you, you know that. If you come with us. I will be so worried about you that I won’t be able to do my own job. Please, stay with Sanjay. You’ll be safe here." It wasn’t going to work, and he knew it.