She had always been right behind him.
From the time she could walk upright, Basit’s little sister Zahirah had been at his heels begging for his attention. Like any sister she had alternated between charming him into giving her what she wanted, and annoying him to the point of rage. For nine years she had been his shadow, and he adored her as much as she had worshipped him. He had fought with her, protected her, argued with her, and loved her as fiercely as a big brother could.