Tunde arrived early.
The abandoned chapel near Akoka Bridge loomed like a forgotten ghost. Cracked walls, shattered windows, and vines twisting around the rusted gate. It was once a Catholic outpost, now buried under silence and dust.
He checked the time—8:47 p.m.
The campus behind him buzzed with life: car horns, Afrobeat from distant speakers, laughter from vendors. But here, just across the bridge, it felt like a different world.
Tunde gripped the coin in his pocket.
No sign of the girl with the red headwrap. No backup. Just him, and a message typed by someone who knew far too much.
At exactly 9:00 p.m., the chapel door creaked open from the inside.
Tunde froze.
A figure stepped out. Male. Tall. Clean-cut. Dressed in a white shirt tucked into black trousers, like someone headed for a debate or a courtroom. He wore round glasses that caught the moonlight, and something about him felt… wrong.
"Ah," the man said, smiling. "Tunde. I was hoping you'd come."
Tunde said nothing.
"You have the coin?"
Still silent, Tunde pulled it from his pocket and held it in his fist.
The man's eyes twitched—just slightly.
"You know," he said, taking a step forward, "I was once like you. Confused. Curious. Obsessed. The coin does that. It makes you want answers."
"And you have them?" Tunde asked flatly.
"Some," the man said. "But knowledge, like power, isn't free."
Tunde took a step back. "Who are you?"
The man chuckled. "Names are just labels. But since you asked—call me Malik."
That name echoed oddly in Tunde's chest, like a bell struck off-key.
"I've seen you," Malik added. "In the pause. You just haven't noticed me yet."
Tunde's grip tightened. "You're Awake?"
"Of course. But unlike your little guide with the red scarf, I don't hide behind riddles. I offer truth."
He pulled something from his pocket—a coin.
Identical to Tunde's. Hourglass symbol. Scratch-marked edge. Only this one had a number burned deeply into it: 17
"Seventeen," Malik said, holding it up proudly. "That's how many times I've survived."
Tunde felt a knot in his stomach.
Malik's eyes sharpened. "You're still new. Still soft. But it's not too late to choose the right side."
"What side?"
"The winning one," Malik replied.
Then, without warning, Malik flicked his coin into the air.
The world froze.
Birds stopped mid-flight. A rat hung motionless by a trash bin. The distant hum of traffic died.
Malik and Tunde stood alone in the stillness.
"I've seen what's coming," Malik said, his tone shifting to something darker. "And trust me—this city isn't ready "
He walked in a slow circle around Tunde.
"They send 'guides' like her to prepare you. But they don't tell you the full story. About the rivalries. The hunts. The debt you start to owe."
Tunde turned, keeping his eyes on him. "Debt?"
Malik nodded. "The coin gives you time. But it borrows it from something else. Someone else."
"What do you mean?"
Malik smiled, cruel and sad. "For every second we steal, something in the shadows watches. Waiting to balance the scale."
Tunde's skin went cold.
"They don't tell you that part, do they?" Malik said. "But you'll see. Soon."
A pulse ran through the air. Tunde looked down. His coin ticked.
00:04:59… 00:04:58…
The pause had begun.
Malik's voice dropped low.
"I'm not here to kill you. Yet. But I needed you to understand one thing."
He stepped close—too close.
"This coin? It isn't a blessing. It's a blade. And only the strongest survive long enough to use it fully."
Then he leaned in and whispered:
"Next time we meet, I won't be so polite."
And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
Tunde stumbled backward, gasping as the world unpaused. Sound crashed in.
Night insects buzzed. The wind picked up.
He was alone again.
Back in the hostel, he couldn't sleep.
He sat by the window, staring out at the darkened sky, the coin resting on the sill beside him.
5
The number had increased again. He hadn't even used it.
Or had he?
What Malik said looped endlessly in his mind. Seventeen pauses meant seventeen debts? Seventeen what, exactly?
He grabbed his notebook and began scribbling everything he knew:
-The coin gives 5 minutes daily.
-Only certain people can move during the pause—Awakened.
-The girl = guide.
-Malik = not a guide. Possibly dangerous.
-More time = more danger?
-There's a cost.
At the bottom, he underlined one sentence three times:
"Only the strongest survive."
He stared at the phrase until his eyes burned.
Two days passed with no sign of the girl.
He tried using the coin again—twice.
Once during a night lecture. Once on the busy road near Ojuelegba.
Both times, the world froze.
Both times, he was alone.
The pause no longer brought wonder. It brought dread
Then, on the third night, someone knocked on his window.
Not the door. The window—on the second floor.
Tunde jumped.
The knock came again—three slow raps.
He inched toward the window and pulled back the curtain.
She stood there.
Red headwrap. Arms crossed. Expression hard.
"How—how did you—"
"I told you others would come," she cut in.
"You met Malik?"
Tunde nodded. "He said… he said we owe time. That something watches when we use it."
Her face shifted. Not fear. Not surprise. But something close to guilt.
"It's true," she said softly. "But it's more complicated than he makes it sound."
"Then tell me.... Everything."
She hesitated, then climbed in through the window like it was nothing.
When she stood before him, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her own coin.
The number on hers: 29
"Every time we pause, we reach deeper into a pocket of reality that wasn't meant for us," she said. "Some call it 'the Fold.' It's like time's attic. Strange things live there. Feed there."
Tunde's eyes widened.
"Malik thinks he can control it. Use it endlessly. But the Fold doesn't like being robbed. That's why people start to disappear. Or go mad."
He stepped back. "So why do we keep using it?"
"Because sometimes, you need to," she said, eyes burning. "To save someone. To fight back. To survive."
Tunde was silent for a long moment.
Then he asked, "What's your name?"
She smiled faintly. "Aisha."
"Aisha… how many Awakened are there in Lagos?"
She sighed. "Not enough."
And then she added, like a storm warning:
"Especially with Malik building an army."