It began with a whisper.
A rumor about an anonymous donor funding a symposium called Reclaiming Voice—a national event set to be held in Freedom Hall, Abuja. It was described as a gathering of thinkers, whistleblowers, youth activists, and survivors of silenced abuse. But no one could confirm who started it. Or who paid for the massive venue. The Ember House logo appeared on the digital banners, but even Majek was surprised.
Agnes stood in the center of their media room, holding the tablet screen as headlines buzzed.
"Did you authorize this?" she asked.
Majek shook his head slowly. "No. But we did have that sponsorship call with the ethics collective last month…"
She frowned. "This feels… engineered."
The tablet buzzed with new messages.
Then came one from a masked account:
"Come speak, Agnes. Come ignite what your father buried."
Attached was a media invitation listing her and Majek as keynote guests.
Beneath it, the words: "We built this for your fire. Don't let it die."
Agnes felt it immediately.
This wasn't an ambush.
It was bait.
Lami's Final Play
In a room lit by the flicker of one bare bulb, Lami watched the press conference from a cracked phone screen.
He hadn't eaten in two days. His fingers twitched with nicotine and something darker.
"They're hosting a goddamn festival," he whispered.
He zoomed in on the livestream.
Agnes was radiant. Calm. Measured. Her words were stirring: "We are no longer the children of silence. We are the architects of tomorrow. No more inheritance without truth. No more power without justice."
The crowd erupted. Applause roared like thunder.
Lami stood quickly, knocking over his chair.
"I gave up everything for her," he hissed. "I was promised her."
His fingers reached for the drawer.
The revolver was still there.
Still loaded.
The silver glinted like memory.
He pocketed it and whispered:
"Let them cheer. They'll cry soon."
The Night Before the Symposium
Freedom Hall was alive with energy. Over two thousand guests registered. Security swept the area. Drones hovered overhead.
Agnes reviewed her speech one last time in the greenroom while Majek paced nearby, triple-checking the exit protocols.
"I still have a bad feeling," he said.
"I know," Agnes replied. "But we can't live in fear."
Majek sighed, sitting beside her.
"Remember when all we wanted was to stay invisible?"
She smiled. "Now we're projected on fifteen LED panels."
He took her hand. "Whatever happens tomorrow... stay near the stage. I don't want you isolated."
She squeezed his hand. "We stand together now."
The Symposium
The next morning, light filtered through the glass panels of Freedom Hall as thousands poured in—activists, journalists, students, and survivors from across Nigeria. There was music. Poetry. Testimonials. A feeling of movement made real.
Agnes stepped onto the stage in a dark emerald dress, her hair braided back. Her eyes scanned the crowd and met Majek's in the third row, where he sat beside Abeni and Kola, alert but smiling.
She began to speak.
"I was raised to believe silence was safer than truth…"
Her words moved like a tide, pulling listeners into her rhythm.
"…but silence is not safety. It's surrender."
As the audience applauded, a man stood near the far-right exit.
Unnoticed. Unarmed-looking.
He wore a volunteer's badge.
And inside his jacket—
The glint of steel.
The Gunshot
The crack was deafening.
One moment Agnes was raising her hand in triumph. The next, she staggered back, clutching her shoulder.
Chaos erupted.
Screams.
Running feet.
Majek was already on the stage before security reacted, shielding her with his body, blood smearing her dress.
He looked up—
And saw him.
Lami.
The gun in his hand. The emptiness in his eyes.
"You were supposed to choose me!" he roared, before aiming again.
But before he could fire, a security guard tackled him to the ground. The gun skidded across the floor.
Agnes collapsed into Majek's arms, breath ragged.
"I'm okay," she gasped. "It didn't hit anything vital."
Blood soaked her sleeve, but the wound was shallow.
She looked into Majek's eyes. "Tell them… don't stop the event."
He blinked. "Agnes—"
She gritted her teeth. "This ends with truth. Not fear."
The Aftermath — Agnes's Decision
Hours later, bandaged and resting, Agnes insisted on recording a message for the audience.
"I was shot today," she began, sitting in a wheelchair. "By a man who believed love was ownership. But let me be clear—this wasn't about personal betrayal. This was about what happens when entitlement is disguised as tradition."
She looked into the camera.
"I'm not afraid. Not anymore. I lived through secrets. Through silence. Through loss. But I will not live through another generation confusing power for love."
The video went viral within hours.
#AgnesRises trended worldwide.
Lami's Arrest
Lami was subdued quickly. A full confession came after twelve hours in custody. Psychiatric evaluation was ordered, but the prosecutors were clear—this was premeditated.
He didn't ask for forgiveness.
Only one thing.
"Send her a letter."
But Agnes never opened it.
She burned it.
A Month Later — Healing Begins
Ember House became not just a movement but a sanctuary. Counseling sessions were offered. Truth forums expanded across West Africa.
Agnes recovered swiftly, though a faint scar remained on her shoulder—one she wore like a medal, not a wound.
Majek's face now appeared on panels across university campuses. His "Whispers into Thunder" TED-style talk drew over three million streams in one week.
But beneath the growth, they remained grounded.
One morning, they stood on the balcony of their new flat overlooking the ocean.
Agnes leaned into Majek's side.
"I still feel it," she whispered. "The fear. But also the fire."
Majek kissed her temple.
"Fear means you're human. Fire means you're alive."
She smiled. "Then let's keep burning. But this time—for good."
The Proposal
It wasn't grand.
No cameras.
No rings on velvet pillows.
Just a walk along the shore at dusk.
Agnes stopped, looked at Majek, and asked, "If I asked you to build a life with me—not just a future, but a life—would you still say yes?"
Majek didn't answer right away.
He just took her hand, knelt in the sand, and whispered:
"Always."
And under a fading sky, she nodded.
"Then let's write the vow we choose."