1974

Daniel and Ghenet are the kind of students everyone notices-bright, lively, full of promise. When the revolution begins, they take it at face value, convinced it will end the old misery and open the door to a better future.

But the revolution changes. The new rulers tighten their grip. Hope curdles into fear. Streets fill with informers and cadres. Words become evidence. The same people who once cheered are forced to lower their voices-sometimes even inside their own homes.

Daniel and Ghenet soon find themselves at loggerheads with the new order. They protest. The regime doesn't tolerate protest or criticism. It answers with guns and bullets.

Then Daniel is arrested and sentenced. No witness, no trial. No mercy. Just one cold verdict of the Red Terror Court: death by firing squad.

Far from the capital, Daniel's older brother, Samson, an Eritrean guerrilla fighter-battle-hardened, sharp, and stubborn in the way only survivors are. He has seen war. He has buried friends. He knows what the regime does to young men like Daniel. He refuses to accept their verdict. He walks into the heart of the capital alone, where checkpoints choke every road and guns decide the truth. He has no unit behind him. No safe plan. Only a brother to save-and a clock that won't stop.

Because once the prison truck leaves, it doesn't come back.

A love story caught in a storm of power and blood. A family pushed to the edge. A one-man rescue mission aimed straight at the killing fields.

Excerpt:

That afternoon, nearly ten thousand high school and university students gathered at Janmeda, rallying for a people's government, human rights, and democratic rights. They planned to march toward Menelik Palace, headquarters of the Council.

They formed eight columns. The front rows were taken by members of the EPRP carrying light arms. Behind them surged thousands more-young faces flushed with urgency-waving Ethiopian flags and placards demanding an elected government and condemning Colonel Mengistu's rule. Daniel and Ghenet were among them, somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

Their chants rose into the sky:

"Down with Mengistu's regime! People's government! Democracy now!"

Around half past six, just as the march was about to begin, armoured vehicles rolled in and blocked the road to the palace. Jeeps mounted with heavy machine guns sealed the street, soldiers behind them in black goggles-expressionless, still.

What followed was pure horror. The machine guns roared. Automatic fire ripped into the crowd. Protesters fell-some instantly dead, others screaming, crawling, calling out names that vanished under the noise.