It was 1:37 a.m. when Fred reached his tiny hostel room.
Room 309, Old Pine Residency.
A crumbling building leaning like it was tired of standing.
Flickering hallway lights.
Peeling paint on the doors.
A smell of old socks and broken dreams.
Fred slipped in quietly.
On the bed, his roommate and childhood friend, Lucas Omondi — 21, Engineering student, short dreadlocks, a lean runner's body — pretended to be asleep.
But Fred saw it.
The slight twitch in Lucas's fingers.
The rapid breathing.
Lucas was awake.
And guilty.
---
Fred dropped his bag softly.
Pulled off his dusty hoodie.
His mind was still bleeding from what he saw at the auction.
He wanted to talk.
To laugh.
To cry.
To say:
> "Bro, they almost got me tonight."
But something held his tongue.
Something cold in the room.
Lucas shifted under the covers.
Muttered, fake-sleepy:
> "You back already? I thought... you had plans?"
Fred stared at the back of Lucas's head.
A memory flashed.
Two days ago.
Lucas laughing with Trevor in the cafeteria.
An envelope exchanging hands.
Lucas saying:
> "Don't worry, bro. I got your back always."
Fred's chest tightened.
A sour taste flooded his mouth.
He whispered hoarsely:
> "Yeah. Plans changed."
And crawled into bed.
Facing the cracked wall.
The room smelled like sweat.
And lies.
---
Fred couldn't sleep.
Not even after the 5th prayer he whispered to the cracked ceiling.
Not even after counting 1,000 imaginary sheep.
Because betrayal doesn't whisper you to sleep.
It screams inside your ribcage.
Fred remembered the little things:
Lucas's sudden new Air Jordans.
The 4G unlimited Wi-Fi Lucas said he "won" in a raffle.
The strange calls Lucas made when Fred stepped out.
They paid Lucas to betray him.
His own brother.
For how much?
$200?
A bottle of Hennessy?
An empty promise of a better room?
Fred's nails dug into the mattress.
> "Even Judas asked for silver coins," Fred thought bitterly.
---
They had grown up together in the dusty alleys of Mawingo Slums.
Played barefoot football.
Shared stolen mangoes.
Dreamed under the same torn sky.
Lucas had taught Fred how to tie his first tie for high school.
Fred had punched a bully once for calling Lucas's sister ugly.
They had been brothers.
Or so Fred thought.
---
By 6:00 a.m., Fred pretended to sleep as Lucas crept out of bed.
Fred heard the keys jingle.
The backpack zip.
The whispered phone call:
> "Yeah, he's here. No drama. Just make sure you cover my share. I'm trusting you, Trevor."
Fred clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt.
He waited ten minutes.
Then got up.
No breakfast.
No shower.
No goodbye.
He walked out of Old Pine Residency into the rising sun.
The streets smelled of fried mandazi and wet cement.
A new day.
A new war.
And the first casualty?
His faith in friendship.
--
At the corner, Fred saw a familiar poster:
"Sunrise University Annual Talent Show Auditions — Today at 10 a.m."
Winner: $10,000 + Full Scholarship
He almost laughed.
Compete against rich kids who bought votes?
Dance on a stage where he wasn't even allowed to sit?
His heart said:
> "Don't even try."
But his mother's voice in his head whispered:
> "Even broken wings can still feel the wind, Fred."
Fred touched his pocket.
$3 left.
Not enough for breakfast.
Maybe not even enough for lunch.
But he straightened his back.
And walked toward Sunrise University.
Toward the wolves.
Toward the fire.
Because if the world was going to burn him alive?
He would walk into the flames smiling.
---