Chapter 20: The Woman Who Listened
The meeting was set for a Tuesday afternoon.
Anele had arranged it.
"Her name is Tessa Molefe," she told us. "She doesn't publish for clicks. She publishes for revolution. But she's not safe. She's being watched."
Naledi looked at me that morning as I pulled on the jacket we'd bought from the second-hand stall.
"Promise me something," she said, her voice low.
"Anything."
"If it smells like a trap, walk away. We've lost enough."
I kissed her. "If they want war, they'll find smoke in their lungs."
The café in Glenwood was quiet — too quiet.
Tessa was already there, back booth, a coffee in front of her, untouched.
She didn't look like a fighter.
She looked tired.
But her eyes? They were sharp. The kind that could see through glass, lies, and time.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
"You're early," I replied, sliding into the seat across from her.
We didn't speak for ten seconds.
Then I pulled out the flash drive and set it gently between us.
"You know what that is?"
"Let me guess," she said, finally meeting my eyes. "Evidence that ties a state-funded corruption ring to a series of illegal raids and setups using independent vendors as cover."
I raised an eyebrow. "Close."
She leaned forward.
"Is it real?"
"Yes."
"Will they kill for it?"
I hesitated.
"They've already started."
I handed it over.
She plugged it into a tablet under the table. Screen tilted. Silent. She scrolled, and her face darkened.
"I've been chasing whispers for months," she said. "This… this is thunder."
"Thembeka is in jail because of that thunder."
She nodded. "And you?"
"I'm the storm they're afraid to name."
Ten minutes passed.
She unplugged the drive and slid it into a hidden pocket on the inside of her coat.
Then she dropped a napkin on the table.
On it: a phone number. No name. No ID.
"You call that in three days. You'll know what I decide. If I publish, you'll be hunted harder. If I stay silent, you're on your own."
"I'm used to that."
She paused, then added, "Someone's watching me. Probably watching this café. Walk out slow. Don't look back."
I left with my heartbeat thumping through my ears.
Naledi was waiting two blocks away, sitting on a bench with a plastic bag of oranges. When I approached, she didn't rise. Just patted the seat next to her.
"Well?" she asked softly.
"She's in. Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"She wants three days to decide."
"And in those three days?"
I looked at the sky.
Then at her.
Then toward the shadows between buildings.
"We prepare for war."
That night, we moved half the charcoal supply to a hidden pit deeper in the forest.
The other half we packed for sale.
R1,400 came in that week — vendors still loyal, but scared. Some stepped back. Others demanded new meeting points.
Naledi created a new code system using dried leaves and stone piles at pickup zones.
Even Lutho seemed tense now.
"They're asking questions about you," he said.
"Who is 'they'?"
"People with new shoes and government license plates."
Two nights later, a brick came through the window of the cabin.
No note.
No warning.
Just a brick.
We didn't run.
We slept in shifts.
On the third day, I called the number.
Tessa answered after two rings.
"You were right," she said. "They're dirtier than I thought."
"And?"
"I'm publishing. Tonight. National syndication."
I exhaled. "You're sure?"
"I don't do silence."
Before I could thank her, she added: "You have less than 48 hours before the backlash hits. Use them."
I turned to Naledi after the call.
"It's happening."
Her eyes widened, but there was no fear.
Only fire.
"Then let's get ready."