Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Ntandoyenkosi Zulu

"Guys, I think I'll be okay," I muttered, my voice hoarse but steady enough to convince them. The doctor's words still echoed in the back of my mind—critical condition, admission necessary. But I couldn't let them hover over me like mourners.

"Go to your women," I added, wincing as the bandages tugged against my skin. "I've been trying to get a hold of Hlelo, but I can't. Don't tell her what happened. Make something up."

They all looked at me, worried, as if I were speaking nonsense. But I held their eyes. "We live together, we ride together, in unison we die together."

That was the oath. That was us.

We pressed our fists together, palms snapping in rhythm until the handshake ended with a slap and a grip that sealed our bond. My chest ached, not from the wound this time, but from the heaviness of what I was asking. They nodded once, sharp and sure, then turned toward the door.

When they left, the warehouse felt hollow, like all the life had gone with them. The doctor checked my pulse again, muttering under his breath. I closed my eyes and prayed—not for myself, but that Hlelo wouldn't find out the truth in the wrong way.From there an ambulance came to take me to Carstenhof Hosiptal

Nkululeko Zulu

On the drive back, silence wrapped itself around us like chains. No one wanted to speak, because words carried weight, and none of us wanted to be the one to break.

I finally pulled out my phone and called my wife. Her voice was hushed but firm: "We're all at Ntando's apartment. Even Hlelo."

That news hit like a punch. We were going to have to face them.

As we pulled up outside. We all sat for a moment, each of us breathing heavy like soldiers about to enter a battlefield.

"Who's going to tell Hlelo why Ntando isn't here?" I asked quietly.

The car filled with tension. Senzo looked at me, then at Sizwe. Sizwe looked at the ground. No one volunteered. No one wanted to be the one to crush her heart.

We eventually pushed ourselves out of the car, the night air cool against our nerves. The apartment door was slightly ajar, light spilling out like an accusation.

When we stepped in, the girls all stood up in unison. Not with relief. Not with joy. But with fire in their eyes.

Lethabo's voice cut the silence like a blade: "Nkululeko, where is Ntando?"

My stomach dropped. She never called me by name—always by my clan names, STHULI SIKA NDABA,MASHOBANE. For her to use Nkululeko meant one thing: she was angry.

I glanced at Hlelo. She stood with the baby in her arms, his tiny head resting on her shoulder. Her eyes darted between us, searching, pleading, terrified. She looked like a woman caught between hope and dread, too scared to ask but already knowing the answer.

And me? I couldn't make sense of my own expression. All I knew was this was going to be harder than the heist itself.