Makeen squeezed his brother and prayed that the cry had not been heard.

Footsteps again approached. A sharp call barked toward them in Arabic. “Who’s there? Show yourself! Ta’aal hnaa!”

Makeen pressed his lips to his brother’s ear. “Stay hidden. Don’t come out.”

Makeen shoved Bari tighter into the corner, then stood up with his hands in the air. He backed a step. “I was just looking for food!” Makeen said, stuttering, speaking fast.

The pistol stayed leveled at him. “Get out here, walad!”

Makeen obeyed. He moved to the cage door and slipped out. He kept his hands in the air. “Please, ahki. Laa termi!” He tried switching to English, to show he was on the man’s side. “No shoot. I not see… I not know…”

He fought to find some argument, some words to save him. He read the expression on the other man’s face-a mixture of sorrow and regret.

The pistol lifted higher with merciless intent.

Makeen felt hot tears flow down his cheeks.

Through the blur of his vision, he noted a shift of shadows. Behind the man, the secret door cracked open wider, pushed from inside. A large, dark shape slipped out and flowed toward the man’s back. It ran low and stuck to the deeper shadows, as if fearing the light.

Makeen caught the barest glimpse of its oily form: muscular, lean, hairless, with eyes glinting with fury. His mind struggled to comprehend what he was seeing-but failed.

A scream of horror built inside his chest.

Though the beast made no noise, the man must have felt a prickling of warning. He swung around as the creature leaped with a sharp cry. Gunshots blasted, eclipsed by a savage wail that raised the hairs on Makeen’s body.