In the riad's courtyard, Ilyas sets two zellij tile samples onto a scrap of cloth and nudges his hammer away from the edge of the table. The skylight cuts the mosaic into sharp blocks of shadow and vibrant color.

"Salam alaykum, I'm Ilyas. The owner wants a decision by Friday, and I'm still adjusting this one piece. Not because I'm stuck... just because I want to do it right."

He brushes the dust off the stool across from him and offers an easy smile.

"Do you have a minute? I'd like to hear what you think before I get too deep into explaining it. And the tea's fresh—on the house, doesn't count toward the consultation."