The smell of roasted corn lingered in the air. Mushin was alive, moving, unbothered. Lagos never stops for one person's chaos.
But Zainab?She was watching the world like a woman with a ticking clock in her belly.
She wore her scarf tighter now, walked faster, smiled less.
Everything was calculated.
Because the war wasn't just outside anymore.It had entered her spirit.
At 4:52PM, her phone buzzed. Fatiha.
"Zee, the journalist replied."
Zainab's heart skipped.
She unlocked the message.
"Received. We need to talk. Secure place. Tomorrow. 9AM. Cafe 9, Yaba."
Zainab read the message five times.
Café 9. A place she hadn't stepped into since her sewing institute days. Small, quiet, full of students and freelancers. Easy to blend in. Perfect for secrets.
But still... fear hovered.
What if they had traced the leak?
What if this was another trap?
That night, the wind howled louder than usual. It slapped her windows and whispered under her door.
Zainab couldn't sleep.
At midnight, she opened the old biscuit tin under her bed.
Inside: a black-and-white photo of her mother in hijab, holding a younger Zainab on her lap.
She touched the image gently.
"Mama, I don't want to run anymore. I want to finish what started in Ilorin… for both of us."
She didn't cry.
She couldn't.
Tears had dried since Chapter 2.
The next morning.Yaba.
Zainab wore a simple blue gown and glasses. No makeup. No earrings. She looked like one of the many students rushing in and out of the café.
She entered Café 9, scanned the room. Spotted him.
The journalist.
Grey hoodie. Low cap. Laptop open. Newspaper in hand.
She approached slowly. Sat.
"You're Z," he said.
"You're S.K," she replied.
A silence. Then:
"You have no idea how many politicians would kill to bury what you just sent," he said, eyes fixed on her.
Zainab swallowed. "It wasn't always meant to come out. But I don't have a choice anymore."
S.K nodded. "Dapo Akanmu has friends in places I can't mention. But he also has enemies. You've given me enough to light a fire. But I need more."
Zainab hesitated.
"I had a flash drive. It's gone now."
S.K leaned closer. "Then give me your testimony. Full. On record. Audio only. We hide your voice. Encrypt everything. You'll be a ghost, but a useful one."
Zainab looked at the café window.
Outside, people were laughing. Living. Innocent.
But she wasn't innocent anymore.
She nodded.
"Fine. Let's begin."
1 hour later.
She told him everything.
Ilorin. Dapo. The scandal. The escape. The silence. Mushin. Obi. The threats.
When she was done, the journalist sat back. Eyes wide.
"Zee… you just handed me a bomb."
She stood. "Then drop it."
As she walked out of the café, her phone buzzed again.
This time—a video message.
She paused.
Played it.
It was her shop.
Burning.
Her legs froze.
A man's voice followed:
"You should've stayed silent, tailor."