The silence of the wastes was more terrifying than the roar of the explosion.
Nala knelt in the dirt, her fingers trembling as she picked up the small metallic chip. The amber light pulsing within it felt warm unnervingly warm, like a living heartbeat. The blueprint of the house in Dodoma fluttered in the dry wind, the ink of Muteteri Bwire’s signature appearing fresh, as if the pen had only just left the paper.
"Leo?" she whispered, her voice disappearing into the vast emptiness.
The chip didn't answer with words, but the pulse quickened against her palm. It was a rhythm she recognized the frantic, steady beat of a man who had spent his life running from shadows and finally decided to stand his ground.
She looked at the horizon where the Obsidian Tower had once pierced the sky. There
