The double hyphen in "Miss--Malaika" bothered her. It looked like a stutter. A glitch. A name trying to escape.

A soft chime. A folder opened by itself on her desktop. Inside was a single video thumbnail: a woman in a yellow kitenge dress, standing on a wooden stage, holding a microphone with both hands. Her face was blurred, but the posture was unmistakable. That slight tilt of the head. That way of holding her left wrist like it was broken.

"If you are watching this, do not come to the wedding. Do not name your daughter Malaika. And whatever you do—delete this file before December 28th."