Jomiloju's POV
The rain came down in sheets that night, soaking the streets of Lagos and turning the alleyways into winding rivers. But inside the safehouse, it wasn't the storm outside that unsettled me—it was the silence in the room after Steve and I returned from the warehouse ambush.
He hadn't spoken a word since we cleaned up, hadn't even looked at me. His jaw was clenched, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the dining table. The scar on his shoulder, barely dressed, pulsed red beneath the torn fabric of his shirt.
"You're bleeding," I whispered.
"I've bled before."
I stepped closer, ignoring the heaviness of his tone. "Let me help."
He didn't move as I knelt beside him, pulling the kit from the shelf. I cleaned the wound carefully, pressing the gauze to his skin as gently as I could.
"You froze back there," he said suddenly. "You hesitated."
His words hit harder than the thunder cracking outside.
"I didn't freeze," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "I waited to be sure. That shot would've hit you if I had fired early."
He finally looked at me. "You sure about that?"
I didn't flinch. "Yes."
A long pause stretched between us. His breath was shallow, conflicted.
"You could've died, Jomi."
"And you've been dying since the day I met you."
Steve's POV
Her words cut deep—not out of cruelty, but because they were true.
I'd been a ghost long before she entered my world. Just a body haunted by mistakes and soaked in the blood of old debts. But her presence stirred something in me I hadn't felt in years—life.
I wanted to be angry at her for being bold, for walking into a world that should've crushed her.
But how could I be angry when her fire matched my steel?
"You saved me," I said at last.
"You saved me first."
She stood, and for a moment, I wanted to pull her into my arms. But I didn't. Not yet.
"I need you to know something," she said, voice quiet. "I heard what Ada said yesterday."
I stiffened. "What did she say?"
"That not everyone trusts me. That I might be the reason we fall."
Jomiloju's POV
I wasn't sure why I confessed that part—not to draw sympathy, but because I wanted him to know I wasn't oblivious. Every whispered conversation, every lingering stare told me I was still seen as the outsider, the captive, the politician's daughter who had no place in this brutal world.
"I don't care what they think," I said, forcing the lump down my throat. "I'm not here for them. I'm here for us."
Steve turned slowly, his expression unreadable.
"You think there's an us?"
The question knocked the air from my chest.
"There's something," I said, barely breathing. "And if you're too much of a coward to admit it, then I will."
Silence. Then footsteps. Heavy. Measured.
He crossed the space between us in two strides.
Steve's POV
I kissed her.
Not gently.
Not hesitantly.
I kissed her like I had nothing left to lose and everything to gain.
Her lips were soft, urgent, trembling—but they didn't pull away.
In that moment, there were no enemies. No blood. No war.
Just fire.
And her.
Jomiloju's POV
When we finally pulled apart, my chest heaved, and my thoughts blurred.
"I don't want to survive this," I said softly, "if it means going back to the life I had before. I don't want to forget this version of me. Of us."
His thumb brushed against my cheek. "Then don't."
Later That Night
While Steve met with Tunde and Ada to reassess the blown supply lines, I stayed behind in the room we now shared.
I opened his drawer, not out of distrust—but out of curiosity. Something was pulling at me. A gut feeling.
That's when I found the letter.
Sealed. Untouched.
My name on the envelope.
I hesitated… then opened it.
If you're reading this, it means I didn't make it out alive. But I need you to know the truth.
The rest of the words blurred as tears filled my eyes.
He had written me a goodbye letter.
Long before we'd kissed.
Long before he believed I could survive any of this.
And yet, he still fought beside me.
Steve's POV
When I returned, she was sitting on the bed, the letter in her lap.
I froze.
"I had to know," she said.
I didn't get angry. I couldn't. Because a part of me always knew she would find it eventually.
"That was before," I said. "Before you became more than a mission."
She wiped her face, her hands trembling. "So what am I now?"
I stepped closer, voice rough.
"You're the reason I'm still standing."
Jomiloju's POV
I didn't respond. I just walked to him, slipped the letter back into his hand, and whispered, "Then burn this. Because you're not dying on me, Steve Adewale. Not tonight. Not ever."
The Knock at the Door
A sharp knock shattered the moment.
Ada's voice called from the hallway.
"We have a situation."
We followed her to the surveillance room. The screens buzzed with static before settling on the outer perimeter camera.
A black car.
Tinted windows.
And a man stepping out in all white.
"Who is that?" I asked.
Ada didn't blink.
"That," she said, "is Koleosho's cleaner. If he's here… someone's already dead."