The hardest part wasn't what I learned at the meeting.
It was what I couldn't forget.
The city felt heavier the next morning, like it was sitting on my shoulders. People moved the same way, talked the same way, laughed the same way—but I knew better now. I knew some smiles were shields. Some silences were loud.
Knowledge did that to you.
I met Kemi early, near the mechanic's yard where the smell of oil never left the air. He was helping push a stubborn car, complaining the entire time.
"Guy, if stress burned calories, I'd be ripped," he said.
I laughed, but it didn't last long.
He noticed.
"Okay," Kemi said, wiping his hands. "Say it. You've had that face since yesterday."
"What face?"
"The 'I-know-something-I-can't-say' face."
I looked away. "What if knowing something puts the people around you at risk?"
Kemi studied me carefully. "Then you protect them by staying smart—not silent."
That stayed with me.
---
Later that day, Zara showed up unexpectedly. She didn't smile this time.
"You went to the meeting," she said.
"Malik told you?"
She shook her head. "I knew."
We walked in silence for a while before she spoke again.
"Once you hear how things really work, it's hard to pretend," she said. "Did it scare you?"
I thought about the calm voices. The certainty.
"No," I admitted. "It clarified things."
That made her stop.
"That's what scares me," she said quietly.
I turned to her. "Why?"
"Because clarity can pull you deeper than fear ever could."
---
That evening, Nia took over my "lesson."
She didn't explain. She just walked, expecting me to follow.
We stopped near a busy intersection where people rushed past like nothing mattered.
"Pick one," she said.
"Pick who?"
"Someone who doesn't belong here."
I scanned the crowd. At first, I saw nothing unusual.
Then I saw him.
A man standing too still. Watching traffic instead of crossing it. His shoes were clean. His eyes alert.
"Him," I said.
Nia nodded. "Why?"
"He's waiting, not moving."
She smiled. "Good."
"Is he dangerous?"
Nia shrugged. "Danger depends on purpose."
She turned to me. "Remember this, Jay—most people don't choose sides. They choose convenience."
---
That night, I went home again. My mother noticed immediately.
"You're carrying something," she said.
"I always am."
She shook her head. "This one is heavier."
I sat with her in the quiet.
"Ma," I asked, "do you think people can change without losing themselves?"
She smiled softly. "Change doesn't make you lose yourself. Forgetting why you changed does."
Simple. Honest. Dangerous advice.
---
Later, Malik called.
"You're quiet today," he said.
"I'm thinking."
"Good," he replied. "Thinking is expensive."
"I don't want Kemi or my family pulled into this."
"They won't be," Malik said calmly. "Unless you bring them."
I hesitated. "And Zara?"
There was a pause.
"She chooses her own battles," Malik said. "Just like you."
The call ended, leaving me with more questions than answers.
---
I found Zara again near the old basketball court, watching kids play under broken lights.
"They still believe this place is simple," she said.
I stood beside her. "Maybe it is—for them."
She looked at me. "Jay… if this path turns dark, I need to know something."
"What?"
"Will you stop if it costs too much?"
I didn't answer right away.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I know what I won't sacrifice."
She studied me, then nodded. "That's enough—for now."
---
As I walked home alone, I felt it again.
That feeling of being watched.
This time, I didn't panic.
I looked back.
The same man from before stood across the street, hands in his pockets. He didn't hide. Didn't smile.
He nodded once.
Acknowledgment.
Not a threat.
Not yet.
I kept walking, heart steady.
Because I finally understood something important:
Knowing how the city works doesn't make you powerful.
Knowing who you are while standing inside it—that's what decides everything.
And the city?
It was still watching.