The sirens grew louder outside Leila's house in Glendale, piercing through the late morning stillness. Sana held Zayn close, feeling his small body trembling against her chest. His whimpers were muffled against her hijab as she stroked his back.
"Shh, it's okay, habibi," she whispered, her own voice unsteady. "We're going to be fine."
Leila stood frozen in the hallway, gripping a kitchen knife so tight her knuckles had gone white. The banging on the back door had stopped, but the sudden silence felt almost worse.
"Sana?" Leila's voice cracked as she peeked through a gap in the curtains. "The police are here."
Two squad cars pulled up, tires crunching on the gravel driveway. Officers poured out, hands hovering near their weapons. Sana's shoulders sagged with relief as she gently set Zayn down on the couch.
"Stay right here, okay?" She smoothed his hair, wiping a tear from his cheek with her thumb. "I need to talk to the police, but I can see you from the door."
Zayn nodded, his eyes still wide with fear as he hugged a cushion to his chest.
The lead officer – a woman with short-cropped hair and watchful eyes – stepped inside, her gaze quickly taking in the scene. Nothing clinical or procedural about her expression; just another human responding to fear.
"I'm Officer Chen," she said, her voice calm but not detached. "You called about an attempted break-in? Is everyone alright?"
Sana nodded, tucking a stray strand of hair back under her hijab with shaking fingers. "It was Imran – Fahad's brother. I recognized that ratty blue hoodie he was wearing at the masjid yesterday." She glanced back at Zayn, lowering her voice. "He was trying to get in through the back door. My neighbor Mrs. Abadi saw him running when she heard the sirens."
Officer Chen's face softened momentarily as she followed Sana's gaze to Zayn, then she tapped her radio.
"All units be advised, suspect fled westbound on foot. Male, approximately 5'10", wearing a blue hoodie." She turned back to Sana, her voice gentler. "Detective Hassan briefed us about the situation with Fahad and his brother. We'll have someone stationed nearby until we find them."
Leila finally set the knife down on the counter with a clatter, her hands visibly trembling. She crossed the room and pulled Sana into a fierce hug.
"Thank God you're okay," she mumbled into Sana's shoulder, her voice thick with tears. "I heard the banging and I just froze... I should've—"
"You did exactly what you should have," Sana assured her, returning the embrace before pulling back to check her phone. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen: *Police are here. We're safe but Imran got away. Watch yourselves at the center.*
---
At the youth center, the emergency board meeting had just adjourned. Layla sat in the back row, absently chewing her thumbnail – a habit she'd kicked years ago but had returned in the past few days of chaos. The smell of gasoline that Amina had noticed earlier seemed stronger now, or maybe it was just her imagination working overtime.
Her phone buzzed with Sana's message. She read it aloud to Idris and Amina, her voice catching.
"They're okay," she said, meeting Idris's concerned gaze. "But Imran's still out there. And Fahad—"
"We need to search this place," Idris cut in, rubbing his stubbled jaw. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but his voice was steady. "That gasoline smell isn't in our heads. I've got a bad feeling he's planning to torch the center today."
Amina nodded, pushing her glasses up. "The police are focused on the perimeter. We know every nook and cranny of this building better than they do."
Detective Hassan overheard them as he pocketed his phone. Unlike the stern, procedural detective from their first meeting, his face now showed the strain of the past 24 hours – the shadows under his eyes, the loosened tie.
"You're right," he said, running a hand over his thinning hair. "My officers can help, but this is your space. Just be careful – anything suspicious, you call for backup immediately." He hesitated, then added, "We found Kareem, by the way. Tried to skip town, but a patrol car caught him filling up at a gas station on the highway. He's talking... somewhat."
Layla felt a knot in her chest loosen slightly. "Let's split up and search," she said, standing straighter. "We've got less than two hours before Jummah prayers start."
The group scattered throughout the building. In the back storage area, Layla and Idris worked methodically, checking behind shelves and inside closets. The broken window from yesterday's break-in had been hastily boarded up, the plywood a stark reminder of how quickly things had unraveled.
Idris paused while shifting a stack of cardboard boxes, watching Layla out of the corner of his eye.
"You hanging in there?" he asked, his voice gentle. Not the generic "how are you" but a real question.
Layla tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. She opened another cabinet, her hands not quite steady.
"Not really," she admitted quietly. "I keep thinking about what would happen if—" She stopped, swallowing hard. "The kids, Idris. Remember when Maryam's class put up those drawings in the hallway? And little Ibrahim who's always the first one here on Saturdays? If Fahad succeeds..."
Idris abandoned the boxes and crossed the small space between them. He didn't touch her, but stood close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"That's not going to happen," he said, his voice low but fierce. "Not while I'm breathing. I told you I'd be here, and I meant it."
Before Layla could respond, Amina's voice echoed up from the basement stairwell.
"Guys! Down here! I found something!"
They clattered down the stairs, the old wood creaking underfoot. Amina stood by the utility closet, her flashlight beam illuminating what looked like an oversized bundle of rags. As they got closer, the sharp smell of gasoline hit them.
"It's a timer," Amina said, her voice unnaturally calm despite the tremor in her hand. "Set for 12:45. Right in the middle of prayers."
Layla felt light-headed, her knees threatening to give way. "Ya Allah," she whispered, the words a prayer rather than an exclamation. Idris's hand found her elbow, steadying her.
Hassan took one look and started barking orders into his radio. "Everyone out. Now. Get the bomb squad here."
The next hour passed in a blur of flashing lights and urgent voices. The bomb squad arrived, their heavy equipment clanking as they worked to disarm the crude device. The center staff gathered in the parking lot, huddled together despite the warm spring day.
Layla watched the building – her second home for the past five years – with a sick feeling in her stomach. The center had always been a safe harbor. Now it felt violated, its warmth and welcome corrupted by hatred.
Idris stayed by her side, occasionally touching her shoulder or hand – not hovering, just reminding her she wasn't alone.
---
At Memorial Hospital, Tariq winced as he tried to sit up straighter in the narrow bed. The bandage around his head felt too tight, but that might have been the headache throbbing behind his eyes. He kept replaying the warehouse scene in his mind – the flash of Imran's crescent moon tattoo as he swung the pipe, Fahad's panicked shout when the police sirens started wailing.
When Amina slipped into his room around 11:30, he was genuinely glad to see a friendly face. She looked exhausted, her usually neat hijab slightly askew.
"You look terrible," he said, attempting a smile.
"Speak for yourself," she retorted, but there was no heat in it. She pulled the visitor's chair closer to his bed, her movements uncharacteristically hesitant. "Seriously, Tariq. What were you thinking?"
He glanced away, embarrassed. "I thought I could help. Get the evidence to Hassan faster." He picked at a loose thread on the blanket. "Guess I missed the part where they were watching the place."
Amina sighed, reaching out to adjust his glasses where they sat folded on the side table. Such a small, familiar gesture – she was always fixing things.
"The footage helped identify Imran, so there's that," she said. "But we need you in one piece, you idiot. Promise me no more solo detective work."
"Promise," he agreed, then caught her gaze. "What's happening at the center? Did they find Fahad?"
Amina's expression tightened. "They found an incendiary device in the basement. Timer set for Jummah prayers. The bomb squad's there now."
"Damn," Tariq breathed, struggling to sit up straighter. "Let me call some people. Fahad's cousin works at that electronics store on Raymond – he might know where they'd go to ground."
Amina hesitated, then nodded. "Make the calls. But you're staying put. Doctor's orders – and mine."
---
By early afternoon, the situation at the center had stabilized somewhat. The bomb squad had safely disarmed the device, but Detective Hassan had been adamant about canceling Jummah prayers there. Too risky with the Malik brothers still at large.
Brother Yusuf had connections at Masjid Al-Noor about a mile away, and they'd quickly arranged to redirect the congregation there. Sister Mariam's fingers flew across her phone screen as she updated the community WhatsApp group:
*URGENT: Due to safety concerns, today's Jummah prayers moved to Masjid Al-Noor on 7th Street. Please share widely. The youth center is CLOSED today.*
Layla stood at the edge of the parking lot, watching as the first few families began to arrive, only to be met with the news of the closure. Some looked confused, others frightened. A mother with two small children clung to their hands a little tighter when she heard the abbreviated explanation.
"This feels wrong," Layla murmured to Idris. "Turning people away from prayer because of hate."
Idris shook his head. "We're not turning them away from prayer. We're protecting them so they can pray in safety." His voice was tired but firm. "That's what matters most."
Detective Hassan approached them, tucking his phone away. "Kareem's cooperating. Gave us a possible location for Fahad – a storage unit on the east side. We're moving in now."
"What about Sana and Zayn?" Layla asked. "They can't hide forever."
"One step at a time," Hassan assured her. "We've got officers watching the house. If we catch Fahad today, they can go home tonight."
Layla nodded, not fully convinced but too tired to argue.
---
The relocated Jummah prayers at Masjid Al-Noor were somber but well-attended. Word had spread quickly, and the community showed up in force – a silent rebuke to those who thought violence could divide them.
Sister Mariam addressed the congregation afterward, her posture straight despite the strain of the past few days. Sunlight streamed through the colored glass windows, catching the silver threads in her charcoal gray hijab.
"Assalamu alaikum, my brothers and sisters," she began, her voice steady. "As you've heard, our youth center faced a serious threat today. An attempt was made to harm our community during our holiest time of gathering."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"I won't mince words," she continued. "This was orchestrated by Fahad Malik, who has been removed from our board, and his brother Imran. We've also removed Kareem Khan, who is cooperating with police."
She paused, looking around the room. "The board has asked me to serve as interim president. I've accepted because I believe in what our center stands for – community, faith, and a safe place for our children. We will rebuild what was damaged – not just the physical space, but the trust that was broken. This will take time and work from all of us."
After the formal address, people lingered, speaking in hushed groups. Several approached Layla with words of encouragement.
"My daughters would be lost without your Saturday classes," one mother told her, squeezing her hand. "Whatever you need, just ask."
An elderly man who rarely spoke at community events stopped beside her. "Twenty years I've lived in this neighborhood," he said, his accent thick but his eyes kind. "Times like this, we stand together. You did good today, beti."
Layla felt her eyes fill with tears as she thanked them. Through the crowd, she caught sight of Idris speaking with some of the younger men, his hands moving expressively as he talked. He glanced over and their eyes met briefly, a moment of connection amid the chaos.
Later, as people began to disperse, Idris found her near the entrance.
"You did well," he said simply. "The way you spoke to everyone, especially the kids who were scared... you made them feel safe again."
Layla shook her head. "I don't feel very brave." She looked up at him, conscious of the dark circles under his eyes, the stubble on his jaw. "I wouldn't have made it through this without you, you know."
"You would have," he said, a tired smile tugging at his lips. "But I'm glad I was here anyway."
His phone rang, breaking the moment. It was Hassan. Idris put it on speaker so Layla could hear.
"We've got them," the detective said without preamble. "Both Fahad and Imran. Caught them trying to set up another device at the storage unit. They're in custody now."
Layla's legs nearly gave out from under her. Idris steadied her, his arm around her waist, as she whispered, "Thank God. It's over."
"The immediate danger is," Hassan cautioned. "We still have work to do with the embezzlement case, getting formal statements. But you can breathe a little easier tonight."
When the call ended, Layla turned to Idris, suddenly conscious of his arm still around her waist, of the warmth of him beside her.
"I can't believe we made it," she said softly.
Idris hesitated, looking down at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "When things settle down," he said finally, "I'd like to meet your parents. If you're ready for that."
In the midst of all the fear and chaos, his words sparked something warm in her chest – hope, maybe, or the promise of something beyond crisis. A future.
"I'd like that," she said, smiling genuinely for the first time that day. "Let's just get through the rest of today first."