Abeokuta – Dawn Arrival
The road into Abeokuta was quiet except for the growl of Bayo's sedan and the muted rhythm of early prayer calls drifting from the hills. He had driven all night from Surulere, chasing stillness that Lagos could no longer offer. Abeokuta's ancient rocks rose ahead, solid and patient, as though they had seen a thousand storms and learned to wait them out.
When he pulled up at a roadside canteen near Itoku, the woman behind the counter smiled faintly. "Ewedu and amala?" she asked.
Bayo nodded. "And cold water."
As he sat beneath the rusted zinc shade, steam rose from his bowl. The taste was earthy, grounding—like memory itself. For the first time in weeks, he allowed silence to stretch.
Yet even here, Lagos found him. His phone vibrated. A coded message flashed across the screen:
Secure channel: Tope online.
He opened it.
> TOPE: I'm safe. Got help from Mutiu's contact in Agege. They moved me last night before the Shadows traced my signal.
BAYO: Where are you now?
TOPE: Close enough to see the next wave. Far enough to breathe. Don't come for me yet. They're listening.
Bayo's thumb hesitated above the keypad. He wanted to demand her location, but he understood. She was bait in a game they couldn't yet see the edges of.
He looked around. Abeokuta's quiet wasn't peace—it was the pause between heartbeats before chaos resumed.
---
Mushin – Mutiu's Recovery, Morning
At the edge of Mushin, Mutiu sat on a wooden bench outside a roadside clinic, his left arm bound tightly with rough bandage. The nurse had shaken her head at the wound. "You're lucky," she'd said. "If the bullet had gone an inch deeper, we'd be talking burial, not bandage."
He smiled faintly, sipping from a sachet of water. His phone blinked once—Tope's confirmation reached him. Relief flickered across his face.
He exhaled. "Still breathing," he muttered. "That's enough for now."
But when he looked down the street, he saw two Akala boys leaning on a motorbike, watching him. Not hostile, just curious—paid observers, no longer sure who they were watching for.
He tossed his empty sachet into the gutter and stood. "Tell your sponsors," he said calmly, "the game's changed."
One of them smirked. "Five million changed too?"
Mutiu's reply was a cold smile. "It's not about money anymore. It's about who breathes last."
---
Abeokuta – Bayo's Hideout, Late Morning
The building was old, tucked behind the Ogun River, a relic from colonial days. Inside, files, cables, and solar chargers cluttered the small space. This was where Bayo would rebuild the fight—quietly.
He opened a secure link to Goke in Lagos. "Status?"
Goke's voice crackled through. "The Bureau delayed the audit. Too much public heat. The Governor's press secretary is spinning the 'technical glitch' story."
"So they're buying time," Bayo said.
"Or waiting for you to breathe wrong," Goke replied. "Governor's people don't rest. There's word they've sent an emissary to Abeokuta. A fixer. They call him the Courier."
Bayo's gaze darkened. "Then send word to Mutiu. We may not have time to hide."
---
Ikoyi – Governor's Office, Noon
Governor Okunlola stared out over the Lagoon, his reflection faint in the glass. Eze entered quietly.
"The Courier's en route," he said. "But there's a complication. Bayo's narrative is gaining traction. People are questioning the Bureau's silence."
Okunlola's lips twitched. "Let them question. Curiosity is just another leash. As long as we feed them doubt, they'll choke on it before truth ever reaches them."
Eze shifted uncomfortably. "And if he exposes the Civic Pulse fabrication?"
The Governor turned slowly. "Then we remind him who controls the air he breathes. Not every truth deserves oxygen."
He poured a drink, watching the amber swirl. "By the time he realizes it, he'll already be drowning in it."
---
Abeokuta – Afternoon Shadows
The sun was high when Bayo walked through Kuto Market, disguised beneath a cap and plain jacket. The market noise was overwhelming—vendors shouting, buses honking, generators roaring—but beneath it was a pulse. He could feel it in his bones.
Someone was watching him.
He turned a corner into a narrow alley and found a tall man leaning against a wall, smoking. "Mr. Adeniran," the man said, voice calm. "You travel far for peace, but you forget—Lagos's shadow is longer than you think."
Bayo didn't flinch. "The Courier, I presume."
The man smiled faintly. "Call me Soga."
"What message do you carry?"
Soga took a slow drag, exhaled smoke that curled like script. "Governor says this fight ends quietly. Walk away, and your people live. Keep pushing, and we make Lagos forget you ever existed."
Bayo studied him. "You think fear is currency?"
"It's the only one that spends everywhere."
Bayo stepped closer. "Then here's my message for your Governor. Tell him I'm already broke. And I have nothing left to lose."
Soga smiled again, almost pitying. "Then you're already dead." He dropped the cigarette and walked away.
Bayo didn't move. He simply looked up at the sky—wide, blue, deceptively calm. "We'll see who breathes last," he whispered.
---
Mushin – Dusk Reversal
Mutiu sat in a dim workshop with three of the Akala boys. The air was thick with oil and sweat.
"You said we could make Lagos listen," one of them muttered. "But people don't listen. They scroll."
Mutiu smirked. "Then we make them stop scrolling. The files Bayo sent—they're the match. We light it from the streets. Abeokuta is the wind."
The boys nodded slowly. One passed him a flash drive. "You'll need this. The Shadows' comm logs. They've been paying through offshore fronts. You expose it, the whole city burns."
Mutiu tucked it into his pocket. "Sometimes that's the only way to breathe again."
---
Abeokuta – Nightfall Turning Point
Rain began to fall, soft and steady, tapping against the tin roof. Bayo sat by the window of his hideout, staring at the flickering lights across the river.
His phone buzzed once—Tope again.
> TOPE: I traced a signal from Mushin. Someone's leaking Shadows' data. It's big, Bayo. Too big.
BAYO: Then it's time. We strike from both cities.
TOPE: Be careful. They're hunting you in Abeokuta.
He smiled faintly. "They'll find only echoes."
The generator coughed once, and the lights dimmed. For a brief second, the hum of the city disappeared, replaced by the sound of the rain and his steady breath.
Then the laptop screen flashed—an incoming file. From Mutiu.
Filename: BreatheLast.
Bayo opened it. The screen filled with names, dates, offshore transactions—proof of how deep the Shadows ran.
He leaned back, eyes burning with quiet fury. "So this is what it costs," he murmured. "The price of air."
Outside, thunder rolled across the Abeokuta hills. The war had left Lagos. The storm had found new ground.