The glass partition of the DVC's outer office shattered into a thousand glittering pieces as a stray brick tore through the reception desk. Outside, the screams of fleeing staff mixed with the aggressive roars of the cartel men who had breached the building.
"Rundika chini! Kaa chini!" Sergeant Mwangi barked, pushing Amina beneath the heavy mahogany desk before drawing his regulation pistol. He signaled to the two security guards, who slammed the heavy wooden door shut and threw the deadbolts into place.
Amina curled into a ball on the dusty floor, her expensive iPhone 15 Pro Max buzzing relentlessly against her chest. She looked at the screen through a blur of tears. It was a video call from an unsaved number. Trembling, she swiped to answer and held it to her ear.
"Amina," a wheezing, desperate voice gasped. It was Brayo. But the arrogant, smooth-talking campus influencer was...