The taxi dropped her off three streets before she asked it to.
Old habit.
Never reveal your real destination when you're being hunted.
Dombi walked fast, weaving between people, her hoodie pulled low, the black file held tightly inside her backpack. Every time a car slowed, every time someone turned their head, her nerves jumped.
Mandla's voice wouldn't leave her mind.
"If you run from me, you run straight into the people who killed your parents."
Was he warning her?
Manipulating her?
Or worse — telling the truth?
She didn't know.
All she knew was she needed a place to disappear.
A place Mandla wouldn't think of.
A place no one had ever connected to her.
She found it two blocks from the old bus depot — an abandoned laundromat she remembered from childhood. The windows were cracked, the sign hanging by one screw, the blue paint peeling in long strips.
Perfect.
She slipped inside through the side door.
The air was dusty, but the silence was a relief. Rows of rusted washing machines sat like forgotten ghosts. Broken tiles. A faint smell of detergent buried under years of neglect.
She made her way to the back room — a tiny office with a toppled desk, a faded calendar from 2009, and a single working lock.
She closed the door.
Locked it.
Sat on the floor with her back against it.
And finally breathed.
Not deeply.
Not calmly.
Just enough not to fall apart.
Her hands were still shaking as she pulled the black file from her bag.
It felt heavier now, like it contained the weight of a whole new world she never asked to live in.
She didn't open it yet.
She couldn't.
Instead, she pressed her forehead against her knees and let the panic wash through her in silent waves.
She cried — not loud, not broken, just quiet tears from someone who has been strong for too long.
After a long moment, her phone buzzed again.
She flinched.
But it wasn't Mandla.
It was a message from her bank:
Suspicious login attempt blocked.
Her chest tightened.
She wasn't just being chased.
She was being erased.
She turned off her phone completely and placed it on the floor like it was a bomb.
In the silent room, she whispered to herself:
"Molefe… please let this file tell me what to do."
She wiped her face, sat up straighter, and placed the black file in her lap.
The world could be collapsing outside.
But in this moment, in this dusty forgotten hideout, she had only one task:
Find the truth.
Understand it.
Survive it.
She opened the file.
Inside were documents her father had hidden — but some pages were missing, torn out. At the very bottom was a small envelope taped shut.
And next to it, sticking out like a secret Molefe wanted her to notice last:
The USB.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Not out of calmness — but focus.
This was it.
The real answers were inside that USB.
But she would need a safer place, a computer no one could trace, a moment where Mandla's men weren't one step behind her
She closed the file carefully.
Tomorrow, she would plug that USB in.
Tonight, she would stay alive.