Sihle had searched every normal place she could think of — her dad's old friends, the factory he used to work at, even the church where her parents got married. But it all led to dead ends.
"I'm telling you, Sihle," Bonga said one afternoon, "this isn't going to be easy. People don't just disappear unless someone wants them to."
Mandisa, always watching Sihle with a protective eye, added, "Then we'll go where no one wants us to go. We'll dig until the truth screams at us."
And that's exactly what they did.
They started sneaking into places they had no business being in — government buildings with loose security, records offices at night, even backrooms of businesses connected to Sihle's father's name. In one run-down office, they found something strange: a name scribbled on an old envelope tied to a powerful local gang. That name matched one Sihle had seen before — on a birthday card her dad once gave her.
"This is it," she whispered. "We're getting close."
They followed the trail to a scrapyard outside of town — a known gangster hideout. While Bonga distracted the guards, Sihle and Mandisa slipped inside and found a stack of confidential files hidden in a locked cabinet. The papers spoke of property deals, offshore accounts, and one document with her father's name, underlined in red.
They grabbed the envelope with Sihle's name underlined in red and ran — but not fast enough. The gang spotted them, but they let them go as if they didn't care.
The envelope was old, the edges worn, the ink slightly faded. Inside it, she knew, were answers. But for five long days, she never got the chance to read them. Between school, home, and the feeling of always being watched, she couldn't find a moment alone.
She had this gut-wrenching feeling—like something was coming, something terrible.
Mandisa noticed first. "Sihle, are you okay?" she asked on the third day, watching her friend's restless eyes.
"I just… I don't know. I feel like I'm waiting for something bad to happen."
Bonga, who never showed fear, clenched his jaw. "Then maybe you should stop waiting and start running."
But where? Where could she go when she didn't even know what she was running from?
-----
The gunshots came out of nowhere.
Sihle was at the shop, buying bread and milk, when the sharp cracks shattered the air. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Her heart stopped.
The shots were close. Too close.
She didn't think. She ran.
The streets blurred past her, people yelling, doors slamming shut. But all Sihle could hear was the pounding of her own heartbeat, each step taking her closer to home—closer to whatever nightmare awaited her.
She reached the house. The door was wide open.
Something was wrong.
The moment she stepped inside, her breath hitched. The furniture was overturned. Glass shattered across the floor. Drawers pulled out, their contents scattered like someone had searched for something.
Her mother.
Her voice barely worked. "Mama?"
Silence.
She ran to her mother's room—empty. The bed was unmade, the pillows slashed open.
Her room.
A horrible feeling clawed at her chest as she stepped into the doorway.
And then, she saw her.
Her mother, lifeless.
Blood. So much blood. Staining the sheets, the walls, her mother's dress.
Sihle's legs gave out beneath her. A scream tore from her throat—one she couldn't stop, one that didn't sound human.
"No, no, NO!" She crawled to her mother's body, her hands trembling as she touched her cold skin.
"Mama, please," she sobbed, shaking her gently. "Please wake up. Please."
But there was no answer.
She was alone.
Then, footsteps.
Mandisa and Bonga.
They had heard her screams.
When they reached the doorway, they froze. The air turned thick with grief, choking them.
Mandisa fell to her knees beside Sihle, her body shaking as she reached for her best friend. "Sihle…" But there were no words that could fix this.
Bonga, who had never cried, had tears rolling down his face. He punched the wall, rage burning inside him, but it did nothing. It didn't bring her back.
The three of them sat there, holding each other, drowning in the pain.
The world had changed forever.
And someone had to pay.
The sirens came too late.
Red and blue lights flashed through the broken windows as the police arrived, but the damage had already been done. Officers swarmed the house, stepping over shattered glass and bloodstains like it was just another crime scene—like Sihle's entire world wasn't lying dead in front of her.
She couldn't move.
Mandisa held onto her, rocking slightly as she whispered, "I'm here. We're here."
Bonga, fists clenched, stood protectively in front of them as the officers approached. "She's in shock," he snapped at the first cop who tried to ask a question. "Give her a damn minute."
But they didn't care. They never really did.
One officer knelt beside Sihle. "Miss, we need to ask—"
"Who did this?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but the rage underneath it was enough to silence the room.
The officer hesitated. "We're investigating, but—"
"But nothing!" Bonga interrupted. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his anger barely contained. "This wasn't some random robbery. Someone was looking for something. You know that, right?"
Mandisa wiped her face, turning to the officer. "Are you going to find them?" Her voice cracked, heavy with disbelief, because they all knew how this worked.
Black girls didn't get justice.
Poor families didn't get answers.
Their grief would be filed away, just another case number on a desk.
Sihle felt her heartbeat slow. The pain in her chest turned into something else. Something colder.
Her mother was dead.
Her father was out there.
And someone had killed for something.
Then, she remembered the envelope.
Her blood ran cold.
A few hours later the police were gone. The flashing lights, the murmured radio calls, the yellow tape—gone. The house was silent now, except for the wind rustling through the broken windows.
Sihle remembered that her mother once told her that if anything happens to her,she should look in the floorboards but if nothing happens she's not allowed to touch them
With shaking hands, she reached under the loose floorboard her mother always warned her not to touch.
There it was.
A thick, weathered envelope. Her name scribbled on the front in her mother's handwriting—Sihle, only if it all falls apart.
It had.
She stared at the words for a moment, heart pounding, then tore it open.
Inside were photos—grainy, old, some torn at the edges. Her father. Younger. With people she didn't recognize. One photo was of him standing beside a woman who looked familiar, but not quite—like a distorted version of her own reflection.
A letter. Her mother's handwriting again.
My dearest girl, if you're reading this, it means the truth finally caught up with us...
Sihle's hands shook as she turned the page.
Your father was never just looking for work. He was running—from something bigger than us. From people who don't forget. I tried to protect you from that world, but maybe I was wrong. If they've found us, you need to find him. You need to know who he really is—and who you really are.....
Moments later Mandisa packed a small bag for Sihle. "You're not staying here," she said firmly, brushing tears from her cheeks. "You'll come stay with me. Just for now."
Sihle didn't argue. She couldn't.
The days blurred after that. Between grief, sleepless nights, and a dull ache that settled behind her ribs, Sihle barely noticed when a tall man in a grey coat showed up at Mandisa's front gate.
"Detective Clermont," he introduced himself. "I'm handling your mother's case."
They sat across from each other at Mandisa's kitchen table. A cup of untouched tea sat between them.
"I need to ask you a few questions," he said gently.
Sihle nodded.
"Where were you when it happened?"
"I went to the shop," she replied. "Not far. I heard gunshots and… I ran back. Everything was already…"
She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
He paused, taking notes. "Do you have any other family members? Aunts? Uncles?"
Sihle shook her head. "No. It was just me and my mom."
The detective leaned forward slightly. "What about your father?"
She hesitated. Her voice came out low. "I don't know where he is. I've been looking."
"His name?"
She swallowed. "Lathitha Ndlovu."
That name shifted something in the room.
Detective Clermont stilled.
Then, without a word, he stood and stepped into the hallway. She heard him make a single phone call. Short. Sharp. Urgent.
Fifteen minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up outside.
Mandisa moved to the window. "Sihle… there's someone here."
A man stepped out of the car. Tall. Strong build. Salt-and-pepper stubble lining his jaw. He wore a long black coat, and his eyes scanned the house like he already knew what was inside.
Sihle stood frozen.
He walked slowly to the front door, and when it opened, his gaze met hers.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Those eyes. She had seen them before.
In old photos. In the mirror.
"Hi, Sihle," the man said quietly.
She blinked.
"Dad?" Her voice cracked.
He nodded once, solemnly. "I'm here now."
The room went still. Sihle stared at the man in the doorway, her jaw clenched, her eyes filled with more pain than tears could carry.
"Hi, Sihle," he said again, softer this time.
She took one step forward, then another—until she was standing right in front of him. She looked up at him like she was searching for something—an explanation, maybe. A reason. A lie she could believe.
But whatever she saw… it wasn't enough.
Her fists balled at her sides. Her voice, when it came, cracked under the weight of everything she'd held in for a decade.
"Oh my Goodness what the actual fuck, dude."
Lathitha flinched.
"You've been gone for ten years. Ten. You disappear, then show up looking like some mysterious rich guy straight out of a Netflix special—then you say 'I'm here now' like that makes anything okay?"
Her chest rose and fell fast, furious.
"I don't give a damn that you're here now! You are the reason I don't have a mom anymore. You started something you couldn't finish, and she paid the price!"
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, voice rising, fists trembling.
"I want my mom back, not you! I don't need you in my life. Go back to your little Lihle, or whatever perfect family you disappeared to! I DON'T FUCKING NEED YOU!"
She was screaming now. Shaking.
"BRING MY MOM BACK!"
Then she turned and ran—past the stunned detective, past Bonga's wide eyes—straight into Mandisa's room.
She slammed the door.
And the wails that followed shattered what was left of the house's silence.
"Mama!" she sobbed. "MAMAAAAAAA!"
Mandisa moved toward the door, but stopped, pressing her hand to the wood.
Inside, Sihle screamed until her throat gave out and all that was left were hoarse, broken cries.
Outside the room, Lathitha just stood there.
Motionless.
Haunted.
Inside the bedroom…
Mandisa didn't knock. She just walked in, slow and quiet, like she used to when Sihle was a little girl with nightmares.
Sihle was curled on the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, her whole body shaking.
Mandisa sat beside her, not saying anything at first. Just rested her hand on Sihle's back, letting her cry.
Minutes passed like hours.
Finally, Sihle whispered through sobs, "She didn't deserve this, Mandisa. She was all I had."
"I know, my baby," Mandisa said softly, brushing her fingers through Sihle's hair. "She was the strongest woman I ever knew."
"I hate him," Sihle spat. "I hate that he left. I hate that he came back."
Mandisa hesitated. "Maybe… maybe there's more to why he left. More than you know."
"I don't care," Sihle muttered, burying her face in the pillow. "He should've protected her. He should've protected us."
Mandisa stayed there, holding her, rocking gently.
Outside, the storm wasn't over.
In the kitchen…
Detective Clermont poured himself a small glass of water. His eyes didn't leave Lathitha, who stood with his hands in his coat pockets, staring at the closed bedroom door.
"I told you not to show up like that," Clermont said flatly.
"She said my name," Lathitha replied. "I wasn't going to wait."
"She's a kid, Lathitha. A grieving one. You don't get to walk in after ten years and expect a welcome parade."
Lathitha said nothing.
Clermont set the glass down. "You didn't tell me they'd be coming after your daughter."
"I didn't know," he said, voice low. "I thought… I thought they'd leave her alone if I stayed gone."
Clermont shook his head. "Well, they didn't. Her mother's dead. And now Sihle's caught in the middle of whatever mess you ran from."
"It wasn't supposed to touch her," Lathitha murmured. "I made a deal. I kept my distance."
"You made a deal with devils," Clermont snapped. "And now the girl's bleeding for it."
Lathitha looked down at the floor, jaw tight. "I'm going to fix this."
"You better. Because if they know she's alive, and that you're back... then this whole thing is just getting started."
Just outside the kitchen…
Bonga stood in the hallway, hidden in the shadows, his back pressed to the wall. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop—but the moment he heard Clermont say "they'd be coming after your daughter", he froze.
His mind was spinning.
Sihle was in danger.
And her father… he wasn't just some deadbeat who ran away. He had secrets. Dangerous ones.
When the conversation ended and the detective stepped outside to take a call, Bonga slipped quietly down the hallway and tapped softly on Mandisa's door.
It creaked open a second later.
Sihle sat up on the bed, eyes red and swollen. Mandisa looked worried.
"Bonga?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "We need to talk. Now."
Sihle wiped her face. "If this is about him, I don't—"
"I know, Sihle," Bonga cut in gently, "but… you need to hear this."
He sat on the edge of the bed, his voice low but firm. "I heard your dad and the detective talking. They weren't just talking about your mom's case. They were talking about you."
Sihle's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"They said… someone's looking for you. Dangerous people. The same ones your dad ran from."
Mandisa gasped. "What?"
"Your dad said he made a deal to keep you safe, by staying away. But now that he's back—and your mom's gone—that deal's broken. Whatever he was involved in… it's not over."
Sihle's mouth went dry. "So… you're saying I'm in danger?"
"I'm saying," Bonga replied carefully, "don't panic. But yeah, maybe. That's why we need to be smart. No more pretending this is just about your mom getting caught in the crossfire."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope Sihle had found. "You still have this?"
She nodded slowly. "There's more inside. I didn't read all of it."
"Then we read it," he said. "Together. All of it."
Mandisa grabbed the door. "I'll keep watch. If that detective tries to come back in here—he's going through me first."
Sihle sat up straighter, hands trembling slightly as she opened the envelope again.
"I don't know what we're going to find," she whispered, "but whatever it is… I'm not running."
Bonga nodded. "Good. Because if they're coming for you… they'll have to go through all of us first."
Inside Mandisa's room
Sihle unfolded the letter with care, her fingers brushing over her mother's handwriting like it was the last piece of her she had left.
Mandisa stood by the door like a guard.
Bonga leaned in close, eyes focused, ready.
Sihle began to read aloud.
"If you've found this, it means I couldn't protect you anymore. And I'm sorry for that. More sorry than words will ever say. But you need to understand, baby—you were never just a little girl. You're more than you've been told."
Sihle blinked, heart pounding.
"Your father wasn't just running from people. He was running from a past tied to something dangerous. Something secret. A group. A name I was never supposed to say: Inkwenkwezi."
Bonga frowned. "Inkwenkwezi?"
"It means 'the star' in Xhosa," Mandisa said softly. "I've heard the name before… rumors. Old whispers about some underground network. Money, power, corruption. People who disappear."
Sihle kept reading.
"They wanted something from him. He took something they needed and refused to give it back. He thought hiding it—and us—would end it. But I knew better. That's why I trained you to be careful without telling you why. That's why I taught you to always notice who's watching. Because one day… they would come for you."
Bonga's voice was hushed. "What did he take?"
There was one last line at the bottom of the letter, scrawled in a shaky hand:
"Find the girl in the necklace. She knows everything."
Sihle looked up. "What girl? What necklace?"
Bonga's face twisted in confusion. "What does that even mean?"
Mandisa stepped forward. "Wait—your mom always wore that green stone pendant, right? The one she told you never to touch?"
Sihle's eyes widened.
She bolted to the drawer beside Mandisa's bed and pulled it open. Buried under a scarf was the necklace—green stone, wrapped in silver wire. Cold to the touch.
She held it up.
It clicked.
Literally.
A tiny snap came from the back of the pendant—hidden inside was a folded photo.
A girl, no older than Sihle, standing beside her father… and behind them, a logo etched into the wall: a star wrapped in chains.
Outside, by the detective's car....
Lathitha lit a cigarette with a trembling hand, staring off into the street. Detective Clermont stood beside him, arms folded.
"You think she's ready for the truth?" Clermont asked.
"She doesn't have a choice anymore," Lathitha said, exhaling smoke. "They're already moving. I felt the eyes watching us the second I stepped out of that car."
"You kept that necklace hidden all these years. They think it's still lost."
Lathitha nodded. "Because what's inside it… it's not just a name. It's a location. Coordinates. To where I hid the real file."
Clermont's jaw clenched. "You mean the blackmail?"
"The proof," Lathitha corrected. "Of what they did. Who they really are. The things they buried in blood."
"And now your daughter has it."
"She was never supposed to be involved," Lathitha muttered. "But she's my blood. Which means they won't stop coming."
Clermont looked toward the house. "Then we make sure she's not alone."
Back in Mandisa's room…
Sihle stared at the photo, her heart thundering in her chest.
"That's me," she whispered. "But I don't remember this. I don't remember this girl."
Bonga took the photo from her, studying it carefully. "This symbol behind you guys—same one your mom mentioned. Inkwenkwezi."
Mandisa leaned in. "Look at the girl's eyes. Do you see that? She's scared. Like she knew the photo was dangerous."
Sihle touched the corner of the picture, noticing something faint—barely visible unless the light hit it right.
Tiny, faded numbers.
Coordinates.
"She is the key," Sihle murmured. "She knows everything."
A cold wind blew through the open window, rustling the curtain. The streetlights outside flickered.
Then—
BANG!
The sound of glass shattering from the kitchen.
Mandisa jumped. Bonga was on his feet in an instant.
Sihle clutched the necklace, heart in her throat.
Then came a voice from the hallway—slow, deep, and deliberate.
"Little star… we've been waiting for you."
The lightbulb above them popped.
Darkness swallowed the room.