A gust of wind howled through the Kaduna safehouse, rattling the rusty windows and churning the dust that appeared to be embedded within the walls themselves. Inside, the flash of muted lamplight shadowed across worried faces. Laila stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing. "They breached the Lagos drop point," Kaima announced, holding out a printed report. "Not directly. It was a sweep, like they were sniffing for residue. Obasi's people." Cassian was already moving to the map, pinning the location. "Third site this week." "And each time, closer to one of our sources," Kemi added from her laptop. "They're not guessing anymore. Someone is talking." Silence fell. The word hung in the air: betrayal . Laila turned slowly. "Then we chop the rot." Kemi nodded. "I've put encrypted re-screening protocols on all of them. Even our inner team." "Good," Laila said. "Do it." She hated this moment. The doubt. The fear that one of their crew was providing information to the other side. But they were too deep in now to break up. Thunder boomed outside across the skies. By midnight, the safehouse's war room was fully active. Servers hummed, and digital blueprints of Obasi's known assets glowed across the main display. Cassian stood at the center, guiding the team through strategy revisions. Laila sat near the back, scanning Mira's last journal again. Each time, she saw something she had missed before: a phrase, a cross-reference, a memory reawakening. But tonight, something new stuck out. "Collapse comes softly first. It comes in on trusted feet." Laila's brows wrinkled. She flipped three pages over. There it was again; stated in other words, but unmistakable. She stood up. "I think my mother guessed the leak." Cassian looked up. "She used metaphors," Laila continued. "But this is too regular. She must have suspected someone on the inside." "That journal was before our current team," Tobi said from behind the screen. "Exactly," she said. "Which means the rot didn't start today. It's deeper. Older." "Obasi isn't so much the disease," Cassian whispered. "But the most glaring symptom." The next morning, a ping roused Kemi's laptop. She typed in, scrunched her brow, then screamed, "We have movement. A memo tagged from Obasi's side. It's coded, but I double-checked it." They all gathered around. It's not about us," she said to him, "but it says 'The Veil Initiative.' That was what Mira called her independent investigations." "What is it?" Cassian insisted. Kemi read: "'The Veil Initiative has been partially restored; recover assets before public breach. Erase all traces.'" Tobi swore under his breath. "They know. They're coming for the archives.". "There's one left," Laila whispered. "The old printing press in Jos. Mira stored originals there. Copies." Cassian's jaw tightened. "Then we move." Laila nodded. "We leave tonight." The drive was late and still. No convoy. Just two cars; low profile, untraceable. In the backseat, Laila stared up at the night sky. Remembrances came flooding back: her mother's voice, days spent in hiding, Mira's stern warnings about silence. Beside her, Kaima shifted restlessly. "What if it's a trap?" "It is," Laila whispered. "But avoiding it is worse." Jos welcomed them with gusts of wind and dust. The streets were empty save for the few they met when they arrived at the old press, an abandoned warehouse tucked behind a mechanic's yard. The front door groaned open on rusty hinges. Inside, the room was stale, weighed down with ink and years. Laila went straight to the rear chamber. She found it just where her mother described in the journal: under a loose board, beneath a heap of old type cases. Cassian helped to lift the panel. There was a fireproof box there. He looked at her. "You ready?" She opened it. Within were microfilms, outdated recordings, flash drives, and something she did not anticipate: a sealed letter addressed to her. Laila ripped open the envelope. "If you're reading this, you've chosen the truth. Be warned; the truth burns. But it lights the path too. Love, Mum. "Droplets of tears rose to her eyes, but she blinked them away. They made off with all and departed, covering their tracks as best they could. Several hours later, as they drove towards the outskirts of Abuja, their lead vehicle exploded. Cassian's instincts saved them. He yanked the wheel hard, skidding their car off the road in time. Kaima screamed. Glass shattered. Gunfire erupted. They were ambushed. Laila crawled out, hiding behind the wreckage. Cassian shot back, covering their retreat. Kaima crawled towards the bushes, bleeding but alive. They weren't soldiers, but they'd learned to live. By the time reinforcement came from Kaduna, their attackers had vanished. "What the hell was that?" Tobi demanded, surveying the destruction. "They wanted to silence us before we opened the box," Laila said, cradling the case. "But we didn't," Cassian said. "We can still." Laila glared at the charred ground and breathed softly, "Not yet." She made up her mind that night. They held the final key. The evidence Mira had risked everything to protect. But it may not be used lightly. One error, and blameless lives would be destroyed along with the corrupt. Laila stored the microfilms and drives in a new vault in the Kaduna safehouse, in Tobi's custody. "We go dark again," she told the team. "Another week. We get intel on who is tracking us. Then we move.". Cassian looked at her with restrained respect. "You're not Mira." "No," she said. "But I carry her name. And that name carries meaning."
