The matatus still rattled through Eastview City’s Estate 9 at dawn, though the conductors had stopped shouting their routes. Nobody wanted attention anymore—not with everything happening in the neighborhood. The air felt heavier these days, thick with rumors. People whispered about the robberies, the break-ins, the disappearances of young boys who had once played football in the dusty fields after school.
To Amina Njoroge, stepping off the morning bus felt like walking straight into a memory she didn’t recognize anymore. She had grown up here—these cracked pavements, the half-finished walls covered in political posters, the kiosks selling maandazi and smoky sausages. But now, the familiar looked tense. Watchful.
And she knew why.
Every story she had investigated in the past three months—every lead, every whispered tip from a scared neighbor—kept pointing back to three names she once knew as well as her own.
Matheri....
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