Between shadows and light

Chapter Eight: The Man in the White Star

Zera froze.

The voice was deep, calm… and terrifyingly sure of itself.

Kwame pulled her behind him, his hand instinctively going to the crowbar they’d used to break in. From the shadows of the hallway, two figures stepped forward. One wore a plain black coat. The other—taller, with a scar over his lip—had a small white star pinned to his chest.

Zera’s blood turned cold.

Don’t trust anyone wearing a white star.

The voice from the tape echoed in her mind.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” the taller man said. “But we will take that file.”

Kwame stepped in front of Zera. “She’s not going anywhere.”

The man gave a cold smile. “Brave. But stupid.”

Suddenly—BANG!

A bullet tore through the wooden wall beside them.

Zera screamed. Kwame grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the back of the room. She clutched the file tightly, heart racing. Another shot rang out—this one closer.

They burst through a side door into a hallway filled with darkness and dust.

“Left!” Kwame shouted.

They ran.

Down a stairwell. Through a collapsed hallway. Their feet kicked broken glass and wires. The building seemed to twist behind them—every turn a maze, every corner a trap.

But Zera held onto the file like it was her lifeline.

---

They crashed out the back of the station into the night.

The alley was narrow and lit only by a flickering streetlamp. Zera bent over, gasping for air. Kwame leaned against the wall, hand on his ribs.

“You okay?” he asked breathlessly.

“I think so.” She looked down at the file. “We still have it.”

Kwame looked around. “We need to disappear.”

Zera’s voice was firm. “Not yet.”

Kwame stared at her. “Zera, they just tried to kill us.”

“I know,” she said, eyes burning. “And now I’m more sure than ever—we have to finish what she started.”

---

Back in the guesthouse, Zera laid out the documents on the floor.

Photos of young girls. Fake charities. Secret payments. Official stamps. High-profile names. Some she recognized. Some she didn’t. But one thing was clear:

This was bigger than anyone knew.

Kwame paced the room, reading as he walked. “If we leak this, we’ll be hunted.”

“If we don’t,” Zera replied, “we let them keep destroying lives.”

Her eyes locked onto the red-sealed letter.

She broke the wax.

Inside was a handwritten note.

“If you’re reading this, it means they failed to stop you. Go to Nairobi. Find Charles Wafula. He knows everything. But be warned—he’s one of them. Or at least… he was.”

Zera whispered the name.

Kwame looked up. “You know him?”

Zera nodded slowly.

“He’s my father.”