The short walk from the cool interior of the house to the sun-baked patch of ground where the Land Cruisers were parked felt like a condemned man's final journey to Amani. Each step was heavy, laden with a suffocating dread.
His uncle, Jumaane, strolled beside him, radiating an air of smug confidence, his expensive leather shoes kicking up small puffs of red dust. The oppressive heat of the midday sun seemed to mirror the simmering anger and anxiety coiling in Amani's gut.
The other men, his uncle's silent, watchful escort, fanned out slightly, creating an unspoken perimeter, effectively isolating Amani with their employer. It was a subtle but unmistakable display of power, a tactic Amani recognized with a sickening motion from the fragmented memories of his past life's encounters with his uncle's brand of intimidation.
