The dhow sliced through the black swell of the Indian Ocean, a rhythmic slap hiss of wood against water that felt like a ticking clock. Behind them, Dar es Salaam was no longer a city of neon dreams; it was a jagged silhouette bleeding orange light into the rainy sky. Nala stood at the stern, her hand gripping the rough, salt-crusted gunwale until her knuckles ached.
"Nala? You’re shaking," Leo whispered. He was huddled under a heavy wool blanket Maricha had tossed onto the deck, his face pale and eyes unnervingly hollow.
She wasn't just shaking; she was vibrating with a residual adrenaline that felt like a low voltage current. "It’s just the cold, Leo. I’m okay."
But she wasn't. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the ceiling of the vault collapsing in slow motion. She saw the silv
