The Man in the Shadows
The air outside was thick with evening dust, the smell of roasted corn and exhaust curling through the Abuja streets. Favour stood across from the junction where she'd last seen him the hooded man. The same shadowy figure caught in that café photo with Daniel.
She had only her instincts, a blurry reflection, and Nkechi's shaken memory.
But that was enough.
For the first time in her life, Favour didn't run away from fear. She walked straight into it.
She wore a plain hoodie, tied her scarf low, and carried a small purse with pepper spray tucked inside. Her heartbeat drummed louder than the market music playing in the distance.
At first, no sign of him.
Then—like a flicker—a figure moved just past the kiosk, leaning on a cement wall with his phone half-raised, facing her direction.
Her stomach dropped. It was him.
She stepped into the crowd, weaving between women selling fruit and boys hawking cold drinks. The man started walking. Not fast. Not slow. Intentional.
She followed.
They crossed the road. Her hands clenched. The sun dipped further, washing everything in gold shadows.
The man turned into a narrow side street, lined with old cars and broken pavement. Favour hesitated—but only for a second.
She followed.
He was gone.
She turned in circles, heart thumping, eyes searching
"Why you dey follow me?" a voice said behind her.
She froze. Slowly, she turned.
The man's face wasn't entirely unfamiliar dark skin, rough beard, one lazy eye. But now she remembered: he had once been a security guard outside Daniel's old office.
"You," she whispered.
"I no get wahala with you," he said, smirking. "But others get."
"Who sent you?"
He tilted his head. "You think say na you dem really dey watch?"
Before she could react, he stepped back into the alley's shadow.
Gone.