Nia's heart pounded as Dami dragged her through the alley, his grip tight on her hand. The Lagos night was loud—okada horns blaring, neon signs flashing pink and blue across the wet street. She yanked her hand free, glaring at him. "You got me into this!" she snapped, her voice shaking with anger. Dami stopped, his face tight under the streetlights. "I didn't want this," he said. "I'm trying to save you. Those cult guys mean business." His wrist showed that snake-star tattoo, glowing faint like a warning. She didn't trust him yet, but the sound of footsteps behind them pushed her to move.
They ducked behind a stack of crates as a cult man passed, knife glinting in his hand. His eyes scanned the dark, missing them by inches. Nia held her breath, her back pressed against the cold metal. Dami whispered, "Stay still." Her legs shook, but she nodded. When the man moved on, Dami grabbed her again, pulling her toward a quieter street. An old danfo bus rumbled by, its headlights cutting through the shadows. "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice low.
"My place," he said. "It's safe—for now." She frowned, unsure, but followed. Her mind raced. Her dad's journal was back at the hostel, but she remembered its warnings: The marked bring danger. Was that Dami? They reached a small apartment above a shop, the stairs creaking loud under their feet. Inside, it was a mess—paint cans scattered, sketches pinned to the walls. Dami locked the door, breathing hard. "Sit," he said, pointing to a worn couch. Nia stayed standing, arms crossed. "Talk. Who are they?"
He rubbed his face, looking tired. "They're the Order. A cult. I owe them money from years ago. They saw you with me, and now you're in their sights." His voice was heavy, like he hated it. Nia's stomach turned. "Why me?" she asked, stepping closer.
"Your dad," he said softly. "He was with them once. They think you know something." Her eyes went wide. Her dad? She shook her head fast. "I don't get it—"
"You have his journal," Dami cut in. "They want it bad." She froze. How did he know about that? Before she could ask, he pulled out his phone, texting someone quick. "I'm calling for help," he said. "But we can't stay long."
Nia paced the small room, her shoes scuffing the floor. She needed that journal to figure this out. "I have to go back," she said, determination kicking in. Dami grabbed her arm, firm but not rough. "No way. They'll kill you." She pulled free, glaring. "It's my only clue!" They stared at each other, the air thick with tension. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."
They slipped out, heading back to her hostel. The streets were quieter now, the neon lights dimmer. Nia's legs felt weak, but she pushed on. At the hostel, the door hung open, her room still a mess from the break-in. She dropped to her knees, pulling the journal from under the bed. Her hands shook as she flipped through it. The snake-star drawing stared back, with messy notes: Ritual under bridge. Full moon. Blood. Her breath hitched. She showed Dami. "Look at this," she said.
His face went pale. "Tonight's the full moon," he muttered, running a hand over his locs. Before they could plan, a low chanting drifted in from outside—creepy and steady. Nia peeked out the window. Down the street, under a rusty bridge, figures in dark robes moved around a fire. The snake-star symbol glowed on the ground, red and bright. Her stomach dropped. "We have to see," she whispered.
Dami shook his head. "Too risky." But she was already moving, journal in hand. He cursed under his breath, following her. They crept closer, hiding behind a wall. The cult men chanted louder, their voices echoing. A leader raised a knife over a bound figure—tied up, struggling. Nia squinted. Was that Temi? Her friend's braids caught the firelight, and panic hit her.
The leader turned, his eyes locking on their hiding spot. "Run!" Dami yelled, pulling her back. They sprinted, the cult men shouting behind them. Nia tripped on a rock, the journal flying from her hands. Dami scooped it up, hauling her to her feet. They darted into another alley, hearts pounding. The chanting faded, but heavy footsteps followed.
They stopped, gasping for air against a brick wall. Dami handed her the journal, his chest heaving. "We can't fight them yet," he said. "But we will." Nia nodded, her mind set. The ritual wasn't done—they'd come for her again. A shadow moved at the alley's end, and Dami pushed her behind him. "Get ready," he whispered. The figure stepped closer, a knife glinting in the dark. Nia clutched the journal, her body tense. Was it another cult man? She braced for a fight, her eyes on the blade.
But then the figure spoke. "Dami, it's me." A woman's voice, sharp but familiar. She stepped into the light—tall, with short hair and a hard stare. Dami relaxed a bit. "Zainab," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving your ass," she snapped. "The Order knows you're with her. They sent trackers." She glanced at Nia, her eyes cold. "You're in deep, girl." Nia frowned. "Who are you?"
"His sister," Zainab said. "And the only one who can get you out alive." She pulled a small gun from her jacket, checking it. Nia's eyes widened. "We need to move," Zainab added. "They're close."
Dami nodded, but Nia wasn't sure. Another family tie to the cult? She flipped the journal open again, skimming the notes. Blood binds the marked. Did that mean Dami? Zainab? Her dad? The questions burned as they started walking, sticking to the shadows. The city felt alive around them—distant music, the hum of generators—but danger was closer.
They reached a small car parked near a market, the air thick with the smell of roasted corn. Zainab unlocked it, motioning them inside. Nia hesitated, looking at Dami. "Why should I go with you?" she asked.
"Because they'll find you alone," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I won't let that happen." His eyes held hers, and for a moment, she believed him. She slid into the back seat, journal on her lap. Zainab drove fast, weaving through traffic. Nia watched the bridge fade in the mirror, the fire still burning. The cult wasn't done.
Halfway across town, Zainab pulled over near a quiet street. "We're safe here for now," she said. "But we need a plan." Nia opened the journal again, reading aloud. "It says the ritual needs blood from the marked. Dami, is that you?" He looked away, silent. Zainab answered instead. "It's all of us—him, me, your dad. You're tied too."
Nia's head spun. "How?" she asked.
"Your dad left the Order," Zainab said. "They killed him for it. Now they want you to finish what he started." The words hit like a punch. Nia stared at the journal, her hands shaking. Dami put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll stop them," he said. "Together."
Before she could reply, headlights flashed behind them. A car sped closer, cult men inside. Zainab cursed, starting the engine. "Hold on!" she yelled. The chase began, tires screeching on the wet road. Nia gripped the journal, her heart in her throat. The cult was relentless, and she was right in the middle.