The morning after his conversation with Coach Juma, Amani found himself seated beside his mother in the modest waiting room of Fatuma Ali's law office.
The space was small but meticulously organized, with walls lined with legal tomes and framed certificates.
A gentle breeze from a ceiling fan stirred the humid June air, carrying with it the distant sounds of Mombasa's bustling streets.
Amani's leg bounced nervously, a rare outward sign of the anxiety churning within him. This meeting felt momentous, a critical juncture in the 'Coastal Fortress' mission that could determine whether his family would retain their ancestral land or lose it to Jumaane's machinations.
Halima placed a calming hand on his knee. "Be still, my son," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. "God guides our steps." Her quiet faith had always been her anchor, and now, Amani drew strength from it too, though his mind remained a whirlwind of calculations and contingencies.
