There was still smoke hanging in the air as Laila walked down the ruined corridor of the safehouse. The fire had been extinguished hours before, but the acrid scent of burned information, paper, wires, maybe secrets, clung like a stubborn ghost. The walls, where maps and cryptic messages had been plastered, now stood blackened, as if history itself had tried to erase what had been scrawled upon them. Cassian followed her, limping a little. His arm was bandaged, the edge of his shirt smeared with blood. He said nothing, however, only gazing at the destruction with the sullen fury of a fighting man. "They had it pinpointed," he growled. Laila didn't respond immediately. She knelt beside a partially melted filing cabinet and slowly opened it. Inside, to her surprise, there was a little bundle of documents that had been left untouched by the fire. She carefully untangled them, brushing off flakes of ash. There was one name repeated on many pages:*Obasi*. Kemi entered the room behind them, looking grim. "Three servers are lost. All the backups for the whistleblower network; gone." "But not all of it," Laila whispered, gathering up the papers. "He tried to burn us out, and failed." Cassian scowled. "This was no warning. This was a statement." They met later in what remained of the operations room. Kaima sat next to Kemi, her arm held in a sling, eyes that were keen despite the weariness. Tobi walked behind them, sorting out whatever information he could recover from the offline computers. It was hushed, but Laila stood at the center, the stack of documents on the table next to Mira's worn journal. "We've all lost something here," she began, her voice controlled, steady. "But we're not finished. This fire didn't silence us. It reminded us of what else we have to uncover." Cassian, arms crossed, nodded begrudgingly. "We have to come out." Kaima frowned. "With what? The majority of our network is still underground. Obasi will target them." "That's why we take the lead," Laila replied. "Not as specters anymore. As witnesses." Kemi slouched forward. "You're suggesting. A live testimony? Open, public?" Laila nodded. "A global link. Live feedback. Let the world see the truth." Tobi looked up from his screen. "That's going to need heavy encryption and redundancy stacked on redundancy. Once we start, no going back.". The melody started with Laila, between Kaima and Cassian. She was singing in a pure voice, her face unveiled. "My name is Laila Okoye," she said. "And this is the truth we buried for too long.". She told it all. The disappearance of her mother, the coded evidence Mira had found, and the orphanages as fronts for black market medical experiments. The smuggling networks. The identity theft. The bribes. The lies. And Obasi, always in the background, strings pulled. Others listened. Whistleblowers from hidden corners of the country. Survivors of raids. Anonymous hackers. Former insiders. All contributed their portion, igniting the flames. Testimonies poured in. Screens across continents aglow. Social feeds exploded. When the broadcast finished, Laila's voice shook, but she did not cry. "We are no longer afraid," she stated. "And we are no longer alone." The repercussions were immediate. International human rights groups demanded investigations. Government departments went silent. Obasi's name trended for days; then weeks. Banks froze accounts. Interpol opened files. Two of his known partners were arrested within seventy-two hours. But Obasi himself did not appear. He remained the shadow in the veil, the man with no confirmed photo, no traceable home. Still, the fire had started. "There never was," said Cassian. The succeeding days blurred together in activity. With what little was left, they pieced together enough of the tech equipment to organize the relay. Volunteers re-established. Supporters from other cities offered safe houses and routers. Even a few journalists who had earlier withdrawn in fear began to ask questions again. Laila spent long hours preparing the testimony; her own and others. Names, locations, recorded footage, and the voice of those who had suffered under Obasi's long shadow. She did it not as a martyr, but as a woman who had run for too long. That night, sitting in Mira's chair reading the last draft, she had the letter closed in her hand again. She'd read it a dozen times already, and yet each sentence still burned a spark inside her. "Be careful; truth burns. But it also lights the way." Cassian entered, moving lightly. "All set. We air tomorrow." She raised her gaze. "Are we ready?" He sat across from her, eyes unflinching. "We are because you are." Neither of them uttered a word for a moment. Then Laila folded the letter and nodded. "Let's burn the silence." The broadcast was simple. No flash graphics, no newsreaders; just a woman in a chair and the weight of memory. And Laila had lit the match. This evening, Cassian found her on the roof of the safehouse, looking out across the city. Lights below shone, pulsing with life. "You did it," he whispered. She didn't smile. "We did half of it." He advanced a step. "And the other half?" She looked back at him, eyes unflinching. "We reach him. We put an end to it." Cassian placed his hand on her shoulder. "Not as ghosts. Not as vigilantes. As truth tellers." She nodded. And for the first time, beneath all the weight, she felt something like lightness.
