Two days after the explosion.*
Detective Chidi Okafor sat in the forensics lab, staring at a holographic display that refused to make sense.
The body on the table—or what was left of it—had been dead for months. Found in the wreckage of Osaze
Evbuomwan's apartment, stabbed through the chest, partially burned.
Dr. Adewale stood beside him, arms crossed, his four eyes blinking in sequence. "You're not going to like this."
"I already don't like it," Chidi muttered. "Tell me anyway."
Dr. Adewale tapped the display. A file appeared—dense, redacted, marked with warnings in three languages.
"The deceased is Marcus Vance. British national. Former SIS operative. Went rogue six years ago. Started
freelancing—assassinations, espionage, wet work. Then he disappeared completely. No sightings. No activity.
Nothing."
Chidi leaned forward. "Until he showed up dead in a medical student's apartment."
"Exactly."
"What was he doing in New Lagos?"
Dr. Adewale shrugged. "That's your job. I just identify the bodies."
Chidi scrolled through the file. Most of it was redacted—black bars over names, dates, locations. But one
thing was clear: Marcus Vance had been dangerous. Professional. The kind of man governments hired when
they needed someone erased.
"I sent a request to the British government," Chidi said. "Asked for his full file. Medical records. Known
associates. Anything."
"And?"
"They told me to fuck off.
Dr. Adewale raised an eyebrow. "Politely?"
"Very politely." Chidi closed the file. "Which means there's something here they don't want us to see."
"Or someone."
Chidi stood, rubbing his face. He was exhausted. The kind of tired that came from too many sleepless nights
and too many unanswered questions.
"What about the other body?" he asked. "Folake Williams."
Dr. Adewale's expression shifted. Sadness. Respect. "Her family took her. Refused an autopsy. Said they
wanted to bury her on their terms."
"Where?"
"Ibadan. Traditional Yoruba rites. They left yesterday."
Chidi nodded. He couldn't blame them. Folake had been killed in her own home, in front of her daughter. The
least they could do was let her family lay her to rest with dignity.
But it also meant he had nothing. No autopsy. No evidence. No answers.
Just more questions.
---
Sergeant Amara Nkosi found him in the break room, staring at a cup of coffee he hadn't touched.
"You look like shit," she said, sitting down across from him.
"Thanks."
"I mean it. When's the last time you slept?"
"I don't remember."
Amara sighed. "Chidi, you can't keep doing this. You're burning yourself out."
"We're close, Amara. I can feel it.
Close to what? We've hit dead ends everywhere. The British won't talk. Folake's family won't talk. The
witnesses from the explosion all say the same thing—bright light, fire, then nothing."
"There's a pattern," Chidi insisted. "The victims. The methods. The timing. It's all connected."
Amara leaned back, her cyborg arms clicking softly as she crossed them. "You really think this is bigger than
a few random killings?"
"I don't think. I know."
She studied him for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Alright. Walk me through it."
Chidi pulled up his tablet, displaying a list of names and faces.
"Folake Williams. Forty-seven. Killed in her home. House destroyed by what witnesses described as 'holy fire.'"
"Osaze's father. Ehizogie Evbuomwan. Fifty-two. Stabbed in his apartment. One attacker dead—Marcus
Vance, British operative. Second attacker escaped."
"Then there are the others." He scrolled through more files. "Twelve victims over the last six months. All
between forty and sixty years old. All from old families—pre-colonization bloodlines. All killed in different
ways, but with one thing in common."
"What?"
"Their families have power. Real power. Not money. Not political influence. Something else."
Amara frowned. "What do you mean?"
Chidi hesitated. He wasn't sure how to explain it. But he'd been a cop long enough to trust his instincts.
"There's something spiritual going on here," he said quietly. "I don't know what. But every victim we've found
has ties to old traditions. Old religions. Old gods."
Amara's expression didn't change. "You sound crazy."
"I know."
"But I believe you."
Chidi looked up, surprised.
Amara leaned forward. "I was special ops before I joined the force. You know that. What you don't know is
*why* I left."
"You said it was harassment—"
"It was. But that's not the whole story." She took a breath. "We were deployed to the outer colonies. Classified
mission. We found... things. Artifacts. Beings. Stuff that shouldn't exist. The kind of thing that makes you
question everything you thought you knew about the world."
Chidi stared at her.
"So yeah," Amara said. "I believe you. Because I've seen what's out there. And if someone's targeting people
with spiritual power, we need to stop them."
Chidi felt something loosen in his chest. Relief. Validation. He wasn't alone in this.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Amara nodded. "So what's the plan?"
Before he could answer, his bracelet chimed.
A message from his boss.
**"My office. Now."**
---
Chidi walked through the station, nodding at familiar faces.
Officer Taiwo waved from his desk. "Chidi! You look like you need a drink."
Chidi forced a smile. "Later. I'm sending you and the guys some credits. Get yourselves something strong
tonight. My treat."
"You're too good to us, man!"
"Someone has to be.
He kept walking, but the brief exchange felt good. Normal. A reminder that not everything was conspiracy and
death.
He reached the boss's office and knocked.
"Come in."
---
Captain Olumide sat behind his desk, looking as tired as Chidi felt. They'd known each other for years—
worked cases together, shared drinks, trusted each other.
"Chidi," Olumide said, gesturing to the chair. "Sit."
Chidi sat.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Olumide leaned forward, his voice low, serious.
"Chidi. You need to drop the case."
Chidi blinked. "What?"
"The Evbuomwan case. The Williams case. All of it." Olumide's tone was calm, but firm. "I'm not asking. I'm
telling you. Drop it."
"Why?"
"Because they told me to." Olumide held his gaze. "Higher-ups. Way higher than me. And they made it very
clear that this isn't something we're supposed to touch."
Chidi's jaw tightened. "We're close. We've identified one of the attackers. We're building a timeline—"
"I know." Olumide's voice softened. "And that's exactly why you need to stop. You're getting too close to
something they don't want you to see."
"Who's 'they'?"
"I don't know. And honestly? I don't want to know." Olumide leaned back. "Look, I respect you. You know that.
You're one of the best detectives I've ever worked with. But this? This is bigger than us. Bigger than this station. They offered me a bonus just to make sure you back off. That's how serious they are."
Chidi stood, his fists clenched. "A bonus. You're taking money to shut down a murder investigation."
"I'm keeping my people alive." Olumide's voice was steady, but there was weight behind it. "You keep pushing,
you're going to get yourself killed. Or worse—you'll get other people killed. People who trust you. People who
follow your lead."
"I don't care."
"You should." Olumide's expression hardened. "This isn't a game, Chidi. Drop it. Go home. Spend time with
your wife. Let this go."
Chidi stood, his chair scraping back. "A bonus. You're taking a bribe to shut down a murder investigation."
"I'm following orders."
"Bullshit!"
The air *shifted*.
Chidi's hands clenched, and without thinking, he activated his power.
Sound. Pure. Focused.
The glass on Olumide's desk *shattered*.
The windows cracked.
People outside the office shouted, alarmed.
"What the hell is going on in there?!"
Chidi's voice was low, dangerous. "I'm trying to help people. I'm trying to find out who's killing innocent
families. And you're telling me to stop because someone paid you?!"
Olumide didn't flinch. "I'm telling you to stop because if you don't, you'll get yourself killed. Or worse—you'll get
other people killed."
"I don't care.
You should."
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then Chidi exhaled, forcing himself to calm down. The sound around him faded.
He sat back down.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. I'll drop it."
Olumide studied him, suspicious. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Olumide didn't look convinced. But he nodded. "Good. Go home. Take a few days off. Spend time with your
wife."
Chidi stood, turned, and walked out without another word.
---
Amara was waiting outside, arms crossed.
"They told you to drop it, didn't they?"
"Yeah."
"And you just agreed? Like that?"
"Yeah."
Amara narrowed her eyes. "Everyone knows you're rebellious. You didn't actually quit."
Chidi smiled faintly. "If I quit immediately, they'd know I'm lying. But if I yell first, make a scene, *then* quit?
They think I gave up."
Amara grinned. "You're a bastard."
"I know."
"So what now?
Now?" Chidi's expression hardened. "We keep digging. Off the books."
Amara's grin widened. "Let's get into trouble."
---
Captain Olumide sat alone in his office, staring at the shattered glass on his desk.
His bracelet chimed.
He answered.
"It's done," he said quietly. "The case is closed. They won't be a problem."
The voice on the other end was cold, clinical. "Good. Make sure it stays that way."
The call ended.
Olumide set the bracelet down and rubbed his face.
He hated this.
But he didn't have a choice.
---
Chidi's house was quiet when he got home.
Too quiet.
"Bọlánlé?" he called.
No answer.
He walked through the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom.
Empty.
Then he heard her.
She stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in a sleek black dress, heels, makeup perfectly done.
She looked beautiful.
"Where are you going?" Chidi asked.
"Out with friends."
"At this time of night?"
"Yes."
"With who?"
Bọlánlé's expression hardened. "You can ask all the questions you want, Chidi. But you can't lock me in this
house."
"I'm not trying to lock you in. I just—"
"I'll be back late. Don't wait up."
She walked past him, grabbed her purse, and left.
The door closed behind her.
Chidi stood there, alone, staring at the empty space where she'd been.
*She's been acting suspicious lately. Distant. Going out more. Dressing up like that.*
*But she's my wife. I love her. I'm not going to accuse her of anything without proof.*
*If I don't catch her red-handed... then maybe it's nothing.*
He sat down on the couch, leaning back, closing his eyes.
*Maybe it's nothing.*
*(He knew it wasn't.)*
The venue was upscale. Expensive. The kind of place where politicians and CEOs went to be seen.
Bọlánlé stepped out of the car, adjusted her dress, and walked inside.
She moved through the crowd, smiling, greeting people she didn't know, pretending to be someone she
wasn't.
And then she saw him.
Tall. Well-dressed. Confident.
He smiled when he saw her.
She smiled back.
They met near the bar.
"You look beautiful," he said.
"You're late."
"Traffic."
"Liar."
He laughed. "Guilty."
They ordered drinks.
And then a voice cut through the noise.
"Bọlánlé?"
Bọlánlé froze.
She turned.
Sergeant Amara Nkosi stood there, arms crossed, a drink in one hand, her expression unreadable.
"Oh," Amara said, her tone light. "I didn't expect to see you here.
Bọlánlé's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Amara. What a... surprise."
Amara's gaze flicked to the man beside her. Then back to Bọlánlé.
She took a slow sip of her drink.
"Small world," Amara said.
And she smiled