In Abuja, Nigeria's capital, 20-year-old Anthony Richard jolted awake in bed.
His phone was frozen. 4:44.
The silence was overwhelming. No generators, no traffic, not even the buzz of lights. Just the low hum of something in the air—as though reality itself had shifted.
Downstairs, the aroma of fried yam filled the space. His mom was already up, working like nothing had happened.
"Tony! Food is ready!" she called.
He forced himself up, feeling... different. Not sick. Not tired. Just off.
His 14-year-old sister, Emmanuella, was curled up on the couch, a puzzled look on her face.
"You saw the sky too?" she asked.
Anthony hesitated, then nodded. "It didn't look real."
"I think we're different now," she whispered.
Anthony didn't respond, but something in his bones agreed. Something hidden. Coiled.
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