The rain started just after midnight. It was slight at first; a sigh across the metal roof of the compound, a soft rhythm that lulled some but not Laila. She stood at the far end of the corridor, arms folded, her gaze on the screens that flashed in the surveillance room. Her face stared back at her in the glass; eyes tired, shoulders hunched. Kemi slipped in quietly, two mugs of tea in both hands. "You've not budged in an hour," she said. Laila's smile was pale. "I'm working with patterns. Obasi's web is too quiet. Something's shifting." Kemi placed a mug in her palm and nodded towards the screen. "Do you think they've figured we're gaining ground?" "They must. We've published ten full testimonies; we cut off three supply routes. Even Tobi managed to shut down one of their money-laundering routes last night." "But Obasi himself is not moved," Kemi said. Laila sipped her tea. It was bitter, herbal; the kind Mira used to brew when she sought enlightenment. "His silence is louder than any warning," she whispered. By sunrise, the compound hummed with activity. Kaima pored over encrypted documents, and Yemisi triple-checked communication lines. Cassian and Tobi were in the server room, scanning for interference. Laila sat with Mira's diary open before her. The page she'd returned to had a diagram on it; not of machinery, but of relationships; lines and arrows connecting names, positions, institutions. In the middle, one word: *Echo*. Below, Mira had written, Truth whispered long enough becomes thunder. Laila traced the word slowly. "What are you trying to tell me, Mama?" she whispered. There was a knock. Cassian was at the door. "You're needed. We have a visitor." She stood on edge. "Who?" Cassian hesitated. "He says he used to work with Obasi. He wants to talk. Alone." The visitor was tall, with worn skin and eyes like one who'd seen too much. He gave no name, only a message. "I want to defect." Laila leaned forward slowly. "Why now?" "Because the organization I served is falling apart. And because what Obasi does next won't leave room for mercy." Kemi raised a brow. "What does that mean?" The man looked at Laila. "He has names. Of children. Locations. Families that your network is hiding. He's going to make examples of them." Laila's breath caught. "Where did he get that information?" The man glanced down. "I don't know. But I overheard enough. He's going to strike where it hurts quietly, surgically." "And what do you want in return for your information?" Laila asked. "Immunity. Protection. A new identity." Cassian crossed his arms. "That's a lot for someone who built half his empire." The man did not flinch. "Then I suppose we both have bargaining chips." Laila stood. "You'll give us the locations. All of them. And if you're lying, we won't need Obasi to find you." He nodded. "Deal." By sunset, names and locations had been submitted. Kaima worked late into the night to cross-check the lists with archived files Mira used to keep hidden in a mirrored drive. Yemisi diverted security protocols. Tobi coded firewalls that would take governments weeks to break. Laila paced. Every name was a child they'd protected. Every location was a place where silence once ruled. They'd underestimated Obasi. "We need to move them," she said. "All of them?" Kemi asked. "Yes. Quietly. In clusters. If even one is compromised, he'll know we're watching." Cassian nodded. "I'll prepare the extraction teams. "And what of those helping us from within?" Kaima inquired. "We cannot relocate everyone at one time. We don't have that kind of scope." Laila opened Mira's journal again, her thumb resting on a note scribbled in a hurried hand. "If you cannot defend the whole, defend the flame." "Then we defend the flame," she said. At 3:17 in the morning, the first group was relocated. Three safe houses were unoccupied by dawn. Laila and Cassian took the last truck themselves. In the cab were five children and two mothers; one holding an infant who would not stop crying. Cassian kept his eyes on the road. "Do you think your mother ever dreamed it would end like this?" Laila let out a breath. "She hoped it wouldn't." He nodded almost imperceptibly. "She'd be proud of you." Laila didn't react immediately. She peeked in the rearview mirror; saw the mother swaying her infant, tired but strong. "I'm so proud of her," she breathed. They reached the edge of dawn. The new safehouse was tucked deep in the suburbs, a weathered old bungalow Mira had renovated in secret years before. The electricity was secure; the walls reinforced. With the last child ushered in, Cassian handed Laila the manifest. "Everyone is here." Laila stepped out into the dawn sunlight. The wind carried a light scent of hibiscus and smoke. She shut her eyes. Then she heard it; the low whir of a sound. Cassian stepped forward. "Drone?" Something flew over in a shadow. "Down!" he shouted. The explosion wasn't large, but large enough. The side wall collapsed; one of the back windows shattered. Screaming filled the inside. Cassian dragged Laila to the ground as dust filled the air. Sirens were wailing in the distance. "They found us," he snarled. "No," Laila breathed, shivering. "They were spying on us." No one had been killed. But the warning had been issued. Silence was shattered. Now came vengeance. Meanwhile, back at the compound, they regrouped. "We have to assume the others are compromised as well," Kaima stated. "And this means that he has eyes on our activities," Tobi chimed in. "Perhaps through the defector's gear." Laila's tone was icy. "Quarantine the hotel room he occupied. Clean every device. Lock him down until we're certain." Cassian nodded. Kemi turned to Laila. "What next?" Laila didn't reply right away. She went to Mira's journal and put both hands flat on it. "We go public." The room went silent. "You're sure?" Cassian said. "I'm done hiding in the dark," she declared. "We've protected individuals quietly. Now we show them that truth bears a face; that silence has an enemy." Kaima smiled weakly. "Then let's make it loud." The Veilbreakers were deployed within twenty-four hours. Crypted livestreams. A digital record of Obasi's atrocity. Survivor testimonies. Real names. Real locations. They crashed the system not wildly, but with purpose. For every video, there was a face. For every story, a voice. And in the middle of it all, Laila Okoye. She sat before the camera, bare. "I am Mira Okoye's daughter," she began. "And I will no longer stay quiet. This is what we have witnessed. This is what has happened. And this is how we take back." The post went viral within an hour. Support poured in. So did the threat. Because now, Obasi wasn't chasing a movement. He was chasing a name. And for the first time since her mother had vanished, Laila was willing to be seen.
