The shadow behind her wasn't hers. It whispered her real name — the one her mother banned from the house. Then it smiled.
Mine moved first.
It peeled off the cracked Kencom pavement like burnt skin, rising while I stayed frozen. Two of them. Sakaja's goons. Machetes catching the 2am streetlight. The one in front laughed. "Ati msichana wa Githurai anafikiria anaweza steal Nairobi?"
I couldn't answer. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. Because my shadow had teeth now. Not in its mouth — in its hands. In *my* hands.
"Mbona hacheki tena?" Machete Two stepped closer. His shadow stretched long under the sodium lamps. Long and fat and full.
Mine was starving.
It didn't wait for permission.
It *lunged*.
Not at the men. At what they cast on the ground. My shadow hit his shadow like a matatu hitting a stray dog. No sound. Just a wet, tearing *pull*. For one second his shadow fought back — I saw it. Arms flailing on the tarmac. Then mine opened its jaw and *swallowed*.
Machete Two dropped. Not dead. Worse.
He stayed standing. Machete still up. Eyes still open. But empty. Like someone switched off the lights inside and left the body running on backup generator. He turned, slow, to look at me. And smiled with teeth that weren't his.
Machete One screamed. Not words. Just noise. "MCHAWI! MCHAWI!" He tripped over himself running back toward Railways, piss darkening his jeans, machete forgotten on the ground.
Silence rushed back in. Just me, the hollow man, and the hum of a dead transformer.
Then it hit me.
The hunger didn't stop.
It inverted. The shadow I ate was inside me now, pressing against my ribs, whispering with Machete Two's voice. But underneath his voice were others. Older. Hungrier. *"More,"* they said. *"Eat the city. Eat the night."*
And I knew things. Machete Two's name was James. He had a kid in Pipeline. He took this job because Sakaja's PA promised him 50k to break a girl's hands. *My* hands.
I knew where he lived. I knew he was afraid of his wife. I knew he—
A phone buzzed. His phone. In his empty hand. He answered it without looking. Held it out to me.
I didn't take it. I couldn't move. Because three kilometers away, under Uhuru Park, a room full of CCTV screens flickered. One screen rewound. Played. Rewound. Kencom. 2:13am. Girl. Shadow. Bite.
A man in a clean grey suit leaned forward. No badge. No nameplate. Just a ring with the Kenyan coat of arms, blacked out.
He spoke into a recorder. Voice calm. Bored. "Target confirmed. Codename: Shadow Eater. Active as of tonight. Alert the Deputy." He paused the footage on my face. "And tell Sakaja his men are sloppy."
He looked straight into the camera. Like he knew I'd see this later.
Like he was waiting.
The screen cut to black.
Back at Kencom, Hollow-James finally collapsed. Not dead. Just… unplugged. His real shadow was gone. Mine sat in my chest, warm and heavy and licking its teeth.
Nairobi had thieves. It had cartels. It had bad politicians and worse cops.
Now it had something worse.
Now it had me.