The ferry pulled away from the Dar es Salaam docks, cutting a jagged line through the dark harbor water. I stood at the stern, my hood pulled low, watching the figure in the white suit Isaac’s mother shrink until she was nothing more than a pale ghost against the city skyline.
She wasn't chasing us. Not yet. And that was the most terrifying part.
"She’s letting us go because she thinks she’s already won," I whispered, my voice caught in the salt spray.
Razack leaned beside me, his eyes never leaving the shore. "She’s a predator, Christine. Predators don't run. They wait for their prey to get tired. They wait for the moment you think you're safe to strike."
We didn't stay in the city. By midnight, we were crammed into the back of a rusted-out delivery truck, heading north. The transitio
