Sima nodded. He had spent fifteen years translating diplomatic crises, underground films, confessions. This felt different. The stage was bare except for a single wooden chair and a microphone.
The hall was a converted warehouse, white walls, no windows. Three hundred seats, all filled. Sima stood at the back, holding a pair of folding glasses that weren't his. A man in a grey suit handed him an earpiece. fylm Everyone Is There mtrjm kwry kaml - may syma 1
"Anta al-akhir," she said.
She looked directly at Sima—at the back of the room—and smiled. Sima nodded
Then the door at the far end opened.
Everyone was there. Including him.
