The late afternoon sun poured through the curtains of the Ajibade home, casting soft gold across the living room. A suitcase sat half-packed on the couch. Bode stood over it, arms crossed, while his wife folded the last of his shirts neatly inside.
Ore sat nearby, chin resting on her palm, watching them in silence. She hated this part—the waiting before her father left.
Bode finally broke the quiet.
"Ore," he said firmly, "I'll be gone for a few days. Some business in the city needs my attention. You'll keep training with Tolu, but only the basics. No advanced forms. And don't—" his gaze sharpened—"don't disobey my instructions. I won't tolerate it if you're stubborn again."
Ore shifted slightly, pretending to study the floor. "Yes, Dad," she muttered.
Bode exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it. "I'm still angry about the Adéùn Eléjè incident. Just because you got lucky doesn't mean you should keep testing limits."
Ore frowned, a flash of guilt crossing her face. "I know. It won't happen again."
Her mother chuckled softly from where she was folding clothes. "Oh, come on, Bode. She learned her lesson—and she got what she wanted, didn't she? There's no need to bite her head off."
Bode gave her a look, but she only smiled sweetly. "Besides," she added, teasingly, "you were just as stubborn when we were young."
That earned a small smirk from Bode. "Maybe. But I had better reasons."
Ore's mother rolled her eyes, laughing. "You had no reasons. You just didn't like being told what to do."
The tension dissolved into quiet laughter. Bode reached for his packed bag and zipped it shut. "Still," he said, glancing at Ore again, "I mean it. Keep your head down. The forest isn't safe these days."
Ore nodded, forcing a smile. "I will."
Her mother moved to hug Bode as he grabbed his coat. "Don't worry so much," she murmured. "She's your daughter. She'll be fine."
"That's exactly what worries me," Bode replied dryly, and kissed her forehead before heading for the door.
Ore watched him leave—the door closing with a soft thud that left the room feeling emptier. Her mother turned to her with an amused smile.
"Your father means well, you know. He just doesn't like being reminded of himself."
Ore stretched out on the couch, groaning. "Then maybe he shouldn't have married someone just as stubborn as him."
Her mother laughed again. "Oh, darling, that's exactly why he did."
---
Bode rolled his suitcase out to the waiting black SUV. The engine purred low, reflecting the fading orange glow of evening. Ore and her mother, Yetunde, stood by the doorway, waving as he climbed in.
"Call when you get there!" Yetunde shouted.
Bode raised a hand in reply, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he drove off down the quiet road.
The taillights vanished beyond the bend, and silence settled over the house.
Ore exhaled softly. "He's always so serious," she muttered.
Yetunde smiled and looped an arm around her daughter's shoulder as they walked back inside. "That's your father for you. Always acting like the world's weight is his to carry."
They settled onto the couch, the faint hum of the ceiling fan filling the room. Ore slumped against the cushions, folding her arms.
"Mom, don't mind Dad," Yetunde said gently. "But still—play it safe, hmm? Don't go anywhere near Ajamu's territory. Promise me."
Ore nodded, eyes on the coffee table. "I won't. I'm not trying to start trouble."
"Good," Yetunde said with a relieved sigh, leaning back.
A moment passed in quiet. Ore's curiosity got the better of her.
"Mom," she said slowly, "what's this all even about? I mean… why kill uncle jide, why take control of the town. What are they looking for?"
Yetunde's expression softened, but her smile turned faintly mysterious. Her eyes drifted to the window, where the last of the daylight painted gold streaks across the glass.
"Something," she said, voice quiet and distant. "Something that can't be found."
Ore frowned. "That doesn't make sense."
"Good," Yetunde murmured with a cryptic smile. "It's not supposed to."
The ceiling fan hummed on. Outside, a single crow called as dusk finally swallowed the road Bode had taken — and for a brief moment, Ore thought she saw a flicker of light at the treeline, like a spark… watching.
---
Alamu's Mansion
Inside a lavishly furnished room draped in velvet and gold, the air was thick with the scent of burning incense. A single calabash sat on a low marble table, filled to the brim with water that shimmered faintly under candlelight.
Ronke sat before it, her posture poised but her eyes sharp with frustration. The surface rippled, showing blurred flashes of stone corridors — the ancestral tombs — but nothing more.
Her reflection shifted with the waves as she muttered under her breath, "I know she wouldn't send me on a wild goose chase… and that dog is getting restless."
She reached for an aged, yellowed parchment beside her — an old map, its edges brittle. Carefully, she spread it across the table, then placed a sleek, modern map of Ogbomosho beside it. Layering one over the other, she traced a trembling finger along the faded ink until an ancient X aligned perfectly with a marked point on the new map.
Her eyes narrowed. "There you are," she whispered.
But when she looked back into the calabash, the image had already changed — the reflection now nothing but black water, still and deep, as if watching her in return.
Ronke frowned, a flicker of unease crossing her features. She sighed, leaning back in her chair, still staring into the dark surface.
"Secrets don't stay buried forever," she murmured. "And neither will you."
---
The Café on Oluwale Street
The faint hum of afternoon traffic filled the air, blending with soft afrobeats from the speakers in the small café. Sunlight streamed in through the glass windows, casting warm patterns across the polished tables.
Leke sat near the window, spinning his phone absentmindedly between his fingers. He'd been there for ten minutes already — not that he was counting. He leaned back in his chair, sighing lightly as the bell over the café door jingled.
Amaka walked in, a small smile lighting up her face when she spotted him. She was dressed simply — a black baggy sweatshirt tucked into a short pleated skirt — but something about her presence made the room feel brighter.
Leke stood as she approached. "Finally," he said, feigning irritation. "Was starting to think you stood me up."
Amaka laughed softly as she sat down. "I'm sorry," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "My dad sent me on an errand. You know how he gets."
Leke grinned, relaxing. "Yeah, I figured. Would be weird if he didn't."
They both chuckled, the tension melting away.
A waiter passed by, and Leke gestured toward the counter. "Want anything? I heard they make a mean milkshake here."
"Chocolate," Amaka said immediately, her eyes lighting up. "You already know."
He smiled. "Of course I do."
As he got up to order, Amaka leaned back in her seat, watching him with a faint, unreadable smile. There was something comforting about this — just a normal day, laughter, the smell of coffee and caramel in the air.