A month had passed since the signal fires had first lit the sky, and the liberation network was no longer just a theory—it was alive.
At every checkpoint, shadows moved with purpose. The once silent fort ruins manned by Jelani and Simba now echoed with the murmurs of the rescued and the quiet commands of their protectors. They rotated their schedules with military discipline—one shadow always watching the horizon, the other tending to logistics and safety. The ruins had become more than stone and ash—they were hope forged in secrecy.
At the old farmland, Zuberi and Kiprop adapted with surprising ingenuity. They developed a visual language using colorful fabrics tied around tools or woven through abandoned crop lines. The open air exposed them, but Kiprop had transformed the old irrigation trenches into escape routes and hidden compartments. Slaves arriving here were passed along swiftly and quietly, with barely a word spoken between handler and refugee.
