The base was still. Not the eerie silence that followed gore, but the dense hush of individuals with their breaths caught. Monitors hissed in the darkened control center, charts scrolling, signals blinking. Laila perched on the long main table, fingers lightly drumming against the rim. Cassian stood over her, observing but silent, as Yemi calibrated frequencies on the comms board. "They're stalling," Yemi said finally. Cassian crossed his arms. "Obasi's people?" Yemi nodded. "Too clean, too quiet. We've overheard no suspicious frequency in two days." Laila scowled. "That is not good. That means they're moving in silence." "And we have no idea where," Cassian went on. Laila looked at the map on the wall. Markers flashed red, blue, green; each one a hotspot of surveillance or activity. But now the red lights were fewer. "He's preparing," she breathed. "Somewhere outside the known places. This isn't a flight. It's preparing." "Then we don't wait," Cassian said. Laila shook her head. "We leave. Before he does." She was by herself in Mira's old study later that night. Dust had gathered in the corners; yellowed documents were still stacked in tidy piles. A single light bulb dangled above, creating a soft flicker. On the desk lay her mother's last notebook, the spine worn from use. Laila opened it, half-expecting more secrets. But instead, she found a drawing. It was a sketch of a girl with her mother's eyes and her father's chin, standing between shadows. In her hand was a torch; behind her, faceless figures followed. Mira had drawn Laila years ago, long before any of this began. "You always knew," Laila whispered. Footsteps behind her. Cassian again. He paused at the door, respectful. "You okay?" "Not really," she admitted. "But I'm focused." He entered and leaned against the wall. "I scrolled through the deep logs. Recall that survivor file you received last week? From the Makota orphanage camp?" She nodded slowly. "Her name is Kaima. She's just arrived. She wishes to talk. About what she saw about the people involved." Laila closed the journal and rose. "Take me to her." Kaima was no more than eighteen. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes wide, fingers wrapped over a worn leather bag she would not let go. Laila sat across from her in the small interview room, offering only silence initially. "You don't have to rush," she spoke softly. Kaima's eyes welled up. "There was a man... not Obasi. Another one. A handler. He worked the lists. Smuggled us in and out of camps. Gave us numbers rather than names." Cassian took notes next to her. "Do you remember what they called him?" Kaima hesitated. "Sometimes... 'The Falcon.' He sported gold rings and carried a silver lighter in his pocket at all times. He burned files on someone when the person asked too many questions." Laila exchanged a glance with Cassian. She leaned forward. "Tell me about the camps." Kaima nodded, talking slowly. Her voice shook as she told her filth, concrete floors, chemicals to make them quiet, coded bracelets. Laila didn't flinch, each word puzzle piece fitting into a game she refused to abandon, incomplete. When she finished, Kaima placed the leather pouch in her hands. Inside: a tag. Metal, frayed around the edges. The number: 14-X-Red. "Thank you," Laila whispered. Kaima began to weep. Cassian rose. "We will guard you." That evening, the compound's lights remained on. Zara, Kemi, Tobi, and the rest worked between terminals. Leads mapped, names verified. "The Falcon" was not a cover name; it was a ghost in hundreds of files they'd accumulated in the past three years. Through the morning, Tobi picked up an address linked with the silver lighter. A bar. In Jos. Laila wrapped up in her coat. The bar was tucked between abandoned shops, its faded signage nearly illegible. Cassian parked down the street. Inside, cigarette smoke lingered thick in the air. Old music played from a battered speaker, and eyes followed them as they entered. Laila approached the counter. "We're looking for someone." The bartender raised an eyebrow. "You and everyone else." She slid a photo across the bar: Kaima's drawing of the man. The bartender paused. Then nodded slowly. "Back room. But you didn't hear it from me." The man was there. He wore rings. He carried the lighter. He also carried a gun. The standoff was brief. Cassian bypassed his gun before he could fire, and Laila slammed him into the wall. "You're going to tell us everything." He spat onto the ground. "You think people like me are rare? I'm a shadow. We never die." Laila leaned in. "Then I'll bring light." They dragged him out. Back in the compound, the Falcon's testimony cracked open three hidden shelters. Dozens more victims rescued. More names. Obasi's hold was slipping. But that made him more dangerous. One evening, as Laila stepped out to clear her head, her comm buzzed. A voice message. From an encrypted source. She hit play. "You're brave, Miss Okoye. But you're not untouchable." Silence. Then a child's voice crying in the background. The message cut. Her blood ran cold. Laila returned to the control room. Her expression was granite. "They found a way into our system," she said. "Obasi's getting personal." Cassian's jaw set. "Let him try." Yemi looked up. "We can reroute all traces. Go dark if we have to." Laila shook her head. "No. We don't hide. We make them wish they never tried to intimidate us." She faced the team. "We're not breaking. We're building." The room nodded. Every ember in the silence; now rising into fire.
