The matatu ride to Rongai was a blur of neon streaks and a chaotic, chest-thumping bassline.
Kevo leaned against the window, his forehead rattling against the glass as the vehicle swerved through evening traffic.
He couldn't hear the music or the loud chatter of the passengers.
His eyes were glued to the digital clock in the corner of his cracked phone screen.
8:45 PM.
Every minute that ticked by felt like sand slipping through his fingers.
It was a silent reminder that his mother’s life was tethered to a fading deadline.
He hopped off at the casino stage, his boots splashing into a deep puddle of muddy rainwater on the tarmac.
The neon signs of the local bars blurred against the dark, rainy night.
Sipping past the muscular bouncers standing guard at the casino’s main entrance, Kevo navigated the dark shadows along the perimeter wall.
He headed straight for the dimly lit, trash-strewn backdoor alleyway.
Brayo was already there, leaning casually against a graffiti-covered brick wall, puffing on a generic cigarette.
Standing right beside him was a middle-aged man dressed in a crisp, expensive corporate suit who looked out of place.
"You're late by two minutes, kijana," Brayo said, tossing the glowing cigarette butt into a murky puddle.
"This is absolute corporate royalty right here. Just call him Boss."
The suited man didn't look up from his encrypted tablet. His voice was cold and detached.
"Is this the kid? He looks like a high schooler. Are you sure he can handle this?"
"He's the best logic-board and network bypass guy in Eastlands," Brayo reassured him, slapping Kevo roughly on the shoulder.
"Show him the plastic, Boss. Let's not waste any more time."
The Boss reached into his tailored coat pocket and pulled out a pristine, unactivated telecommunications SIM card.
It didn't look special at first glance, but Kevo’s trained eyes caught the specialized numbers printed...