📍 Abuja Outskirts — 4:18 A.M.
The road into Abuja shimmered with early-morning mist, a silver veil stretched across the capital's outer arteries. The skyline rose in the distance—glass towers catching the first hints of dawn, government buildings standing like quiet sentinels, and the muted glow of a city pretending to sleep. Abuja never truly slept. It waited.
Inside the van, tension hung like static.
Eagle-One drove with measured precision, fingers locked around the steering wheel, eyes flicking between mirrors. Bayo sat beside him, leaning forward slightly, his knuckles pale against the dashboard. Behind them, Tope watched the skyline with a tight jaw, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"We hold Ring Three as long as possible," Bayo said finally. "Any deeper without a clean corridor turns this city into a trap."
Eagle-One nodded once. "They flagged the plates from Ilorin. They only let us slip through earlier rings because they were waiting for confirmation."
Tope leaned forward, voice low. "Confirmation of what?"
"That he survived," Eagle-One replied.
She blinked. "He never left Ibadan. How could Abuja possibly know he's alive… or that he's nine?"
Bayo let out a slow breath. "The moment he broadcast, the DSNS cross-checked the tonal signature. They still had his hospital registry file. They matched breath cadence, stress intervals, and vocal range."
Eagle-One added, "Children under twelve have distinct exhalation rhythms. His is extremely fast, precise, and clipped. Analysts flagged him in seconds."
Tope's breath trembled. "They've been monitoring him since Lagos?"
"They never stopped," Bayo said. "You don't bury brilliance. You watch it. You fear it."
Ahead, the Ring Three checkpoint loomed—blue lights sweeping across vehicles like slow-moving blades.
Tope tensed. "This scanner will read everything."
"No," Eagle-One said. "The boy prepared the route."
Bayo turned sharply. "You're certain?"
Eagle-One didn't blink. "I saw the interference structure on our grid. It's autonomous. Activates when the engine starts. That's not federal tech. And it's not mine."
A strange wave of emotion washed over Tope—fear braided tightly with an overwhelming, fragile pride.
"He planned ahead," she whispered.
"No," Bayo murmured. "He planned for us."
The scanner's beam slid across the windshield. For a second, the hum intensified—an electric growl that vibrated through the chassis.
Then:
crackle
static
reset.
The entire scanner flickered, glitched, then blinked green.
"Unregistered anomaly," the bored guard muttered, half-asleep.
The gate lifted.
Tope released a shaky exhale. "He saved us again."
"Not saved," Bayo said. "Positioned."
Eagle-One accelerated onto the inner road network, merging with sparse early-morning traffic. Abuja's atmosphere shifted around them—cooler, cleaner, but heavy with an invisible intelligence.
"Next ring in three kilometers," Eagle-One said.
Bayo rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had walked these streets as an insider once—corporate contracts, policy meetings, polished lies. Now the city watched him like an unblinking eye.
Tope touched his shoulder gently. "Bayo… are you ready for this?"
"No," he answered truthfully. "But readiness isn't a luxury anymore."
She held his gaze. "We're walking into something we can't undo."
"That's exactly why we must keep walking."
---
📍 Abuja — Joint Operations Command (JOC)
🕓 4:23 A.M.
The command room buzzed with cold precision. Screens projected shifting maps, coded transmissions, and real-time convoy feeds. Officers moved briskly but with the fear of men who knew mistakes here echoed across nations.
Director Haruna stood at the center, arms behind his back, jaw clenched with practiced authority.
"Status," he demanded.
Analyst Kudi gestured to a pulsing red dot on the Nigerian map. "Subject A-9 confirmed. Resonance matches registry file for Ayo Adeniran. Age estimation: nine."
Haruna inhaled sharply. "The Lagos file—the one marked deceased."
"Yes, sir. The same file."
Haruna looked away, mind racing. A dead boy resurrected through code. A child whose breath had returned to shake the federation.
"And the convoy?" Haruna pressed.
"Passed Ring Three after scrambling the federal scanner. The interference wasn't ours."
"Source?"
Kudi straightened. "Sir… respectfully… the boy wrote it."
Haruna froze.
At nine.
A chill spread through the room.
"Pursuit?"
"Two regional coalition SUVs already dispatched, sir. Authorized through the Northern Security Accord."
Haruna's eyes hardened. "Don't use that old term. Language matters."
"Yes, sir."
Haruna stepped closer to the main display—three dots moving toward Asokoro, one pulsing with strange intensity.
"The Emir wants the mother," he said softly.
A junior officer frowned. "But why her? Why not capture the boy directly?"
Haruna turned, his stare razor-sharp. "Because the boy will evade every system we have. But he will not evade her. Emotional ciphers are stronger than firewalls."
The room went dead silent.
---
📍 Abuja Outskirts — 4:40 A.M.
Rain tapped the windshield lightly at first, then more steadily, blurring the awakening skyline. Tope watched droplets race down the glass in trembling lines.
"Bayo," she murmured, "when we reach the inner city… what exactly happens?"
"Everything speeds up," he said.
"That terrifies me."
"Good," Eagle-One said, eyes locked on the mirror. "Terror means awareness. Awareness means survival."
Tope studied him for a long moment. For all his discipline and steel, his voice carried a weight he never admitted. He wasn't cold—he was carrying far too much.
"Convoy behind us," Eagle-One reported. "Black SUVs. Two. Gaining."
"How fast?" Bayo asked.
"Fast enough to confirm they were prepositioned. They waited for the boy's signature."
Tope turned pale. "So since Ilorin…"
"They were tracking us," Eagle-One finished. "Authorization kicked in when he breathed into the grid again."
Bayo stared out the windshield. "They know he's alive. And they believe we're going to him."
Tope's voice trembled. "Why aren't they shooting? Or blocking us?"
"Drone engagement is illegal inside Ring Two without written orders," Eagle-One said. "They can track us—nothing more till sunrise."
"So they're waiting."
"They're herding," Bayo corrected.
Tope's voice cracked. "What do they want with me?"
Eagle-One didn't sugarcoat. "You're leverage."
Her breath caught. "Because he'll come if I'm in danger."
Bayo reached back, took her hand in both of his. "Because you are the truth he trusts. More than me. More than Eagle-One. More than the entire network."
Her eyes softened with pain. "And you?"
"With my life," Bayo said.
Silence—heavy, sincere—settled between them.
---
📍 Abuja — Ring Two Checkpoint — 4:52 A.M.
Rain pooled on the slick pavement. Guards moved slowly, scanning vehicles manually since the automated systems lagged—Ayo's interference still humming invisibly across the grid.
Eagle-One's voice dropped. "Manual scan will expose us. We need a new corridor."
Bayo scanned the junction ahead. "Left. Asokoro road."
Tope stiffened. "That road leads to—"
"Yes," Bayo said. "Where decisions are made behind carved gates. Where truth is chained to influence."
Eagle-One turned sharply.
The SUVs followed without hesitation.
---
📍 Abuja — Joint Operations Command — Same Time
Haruna watched the divergence on the screen.
"They're heading toward Asokoro."
A murmur spread. That district was not simply elite—it was untouchable.
"Should we notify—?" an assistant ventured.
Haruna cut him off. "No. That zone has its own gatekeepers."
No one spoke. Everyone understood.
---
📍 Asokoro District — 5:08 A.M.
Dawn finally broke—soft, reluctant, spreading gold across the wealthy hills. The road curved upward into meticulously planned streets, manicured hedges, silent mansions, and private compounds where security was not a service but a privilege.
Tope stared at the rising walls, at the quiet that felt almost suffocating. "Eagle-One… what is this place?"
Eagle-One's voice was almost a whisper. "The shadow behind the country's breath."
Bayo leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "The place where they wrote his death… and where they will rewrite ours if we let them."
Behind them, the SUVs tightened formation.
Eagle-One steadied himself. "Brace."
Tope gripped the seat.
Bayo inhaled deeply.
The van surged forward—
Toward the heart of power.
Toward the architects of silence.
Toward the storm waiting behind high walls.
And Nigeria held its breath.