Ikeja – Morning
The rain had passed, but the city hadn't exhaled yet. Lagos woke that morning with its nerves frayed—traffic lights blinking erratically, banks half-open, and whispers crawling through every newspaper stand and danfo queue about what had truly caused the blackout. Some said sabotage. Others said reform.
Bayo Adeniran knew better.
He stood outside the Ministry of Works, collar turned up against the damp wind. His shoes pressed into shallow puddles as he stared at the cracked marble steps leading to the double glass doors. The name on the folder in his hand—Lagos North Development Contract—looked harmless, bureaucratic. But Bayo had seen the figures, the ghost companies, the same recurring bank accounts under different names. Every naira meant for hospitals, schools, and roads had been swallowed whole by greed.
He moved through the metal detectors. Inside, the air-conditioning wheezed like an old man. The smell of disinfectant and fear hung thick in the hall. The receptionist's eyes flicked up when she saw him, then darted away quickly—like she'd been told not to see him.
"I have an appointment with the Director," Bayo said.
She hesitated. "Sir, the Director isn't—"
A voice cut in from behind him. "Adeniran."
He turned. Dare, the journalist Tope had trusted, stood in the corridor—unshaven, wearing a wrinkled shirt and eyes red from sleepless nights. His expression said more than words could.
"You're walking into a cage," Dare said quietly. "Come with me."
They moved down a dim corridor lined with faded portraits of smiling politicians. Faces that once promised progress now stared down like silent ghosts of betrayal. At the end of the hall, Dare stopped before an unmarked door, unlocked it, and gestured Bayo inside.
The room was bare except for a dusty table, a fan that didn't turn, and an unplugged monitor blinking faintly.
"Everything's gone," Dare said. "The Chief's people wiped the ministry servers last night. But I found backups—fragments mostly. The rest... vapor."
He handed Bayo a flash drive. "One file kept reappearing, even after deletion—payment trail for North Axis Contract 74. Guess who signed the approval?"
Bayo connected the drive to the old laptop on the table. Numbers scrolled, names flickered—and there it was. Commissioner O. T. Balogun.
Bayo's jaw clenched. Balogun—the man who had once stood beside his father, preaching reform and transparency. The man who'd shaken his hand years ago and said, "Your father's dream will live, boy. Lagos will rise clean."
He stared at the screen until the words blurred. "So that's what the blackout covered," he said softly.
Dare nodded grimly. "They didn't just kill power, Bayo. They killed proof."
Bayo pocketed the flash drive. His voice was cold now, steady. "Then we light another kind of fire."
Yaba – Afternoon
The rain returned as drizzle, tracing silver lines down cracked café windows. The hum of conversation was low, muffled by static from a small radio on the counter. Tope sat at the back, hood drawn low, stirring a cup she hadn't tasted. Her eyes moved between the window and the door, her nerves tuned to every passing shadow.
She unfolded the note Bayo had sent that morning through a courier:
"Meet me when the rain stops. Bring Dare if you can. North holds the key."
His handwriting was uneven, almost impatient—his letters still carrying that stubborn rhythm she knew so well. Even in the middle of chaos, Bayo Adeniran didn't lose his conviction.
The bell above the door chimed. Tope looked up.
Bayo stood there, soaked from the drizzle, collar wet, fatigue etched into every line of his face—but his eyes burned with purpose.
"You look like hell," she said.
He pulled out a chair, sat, and exhaled. "Hell's awake early today."
She leaned forward. "Tell me."
He slid the flash drive across the table. "Proof that the Lagos North contract was a shell. Billions moved offshore through companies that don't exist. Balogun signed it all—but the real orders came higher."
"How high?" she asked, voice tightening.
Bayo's silence was the answer.
Tope swallowed. "The Chief."
He nodded once. "And if we expose him now, we don't live to see dawn."
She sat back, heartbeat loud in her ears. "Then we wait?"
"No," he said. "We adapt."
For a moment, neither spoke. Rain tapped against the window like a ticking clock.
Then she reached across the table, her fingers brushing his. "You're still the same, Bayo. Always running toward the storm."
He gave a tired half-smile. "Someone has to."
Island – Evening
By sunset, the city's pulse had quickened again. Traffic snarled, buses honked, and the illusion of order returned to the island. But beneath it all, a quiet tremor moved—fear wearing the mask of normalcy.
Bayo stood by the waterfront, watching the lagoon reflect streaks of dying sunlight. Behind him, Tope and Dare argued in low voices.
"We can't release it now," Dare said. "Every network's being watched. The Chief's people are scrubbing every lead before it breathes."
Tope shook her head. "If we wait, they'll bury us before sunrise."
Bayo turned. "We don't release it here. We send it through Port Harcourt—old channels, pre-digital bands. Analog radio frequencies they can't trace in real time."
Dare frowned. "That's a one-way shot. Once it's out, we disappear—or die."
"Maybe," Bayo said. "But silence kills slower."
For a long moment, the only sound was the tide against the dock.
Then a faint vibration. A phone.
Dare looked down at the cracked screen—Unknown Number.
Bayo's stomach twisted. "Don't—"
Too late. Dare pressed Answer.
Static. Then a man's voice, calm and slow, threaded through the noise:
"You breathe too loud, gentlemen. Lagos hears everything."
The line went dead.
Tope's eyes widened. "They found us."
Bayo's voice turned cold. "Then we move now."
They scattered—Tope packing the drive into a sealed pouch, Dare grabbing the maps and fake IDs from the car. Bayo looked once more across the darkening lagoon. Somewhere in the maze of lights stood the Chief's residence—untouched, untouchable. For now.
Third Mainland Bridge – Night
Rain lashed the windshield, relentless and hard. The car's wipers fought against it, clearing just enough for Bayo to see the blur of taillights ahead.
Tope sat in the back, clutching the flash drive, her reflection fractured in the window glass. Dare rode shotgun, nervously glancing at every passing patrol van.
The city stretched behind them—half-lit, half-dead. Lagos looked like a wounded giant refusing to fall.
"Do you ever think about stopping?" Tope asked suddenly.
Bayo didn't take his eyes off the road. "Every day."
"And yet you don't."
He smiled faintly. "Because if I stop, the silence wins."
Thunder rolled overhead, deep and slow. The bridge stretched like a steel artery over black water. They were heading north—away from the lights, into the thin air of risk.
"Once we cross," Dare said, "no turning back."
"There never was," Bayo replied.
They drove on in silence, the rain masking the sound of pursuit. But somewhere behind them, faint and distant, a black SUV merged onto the bridge. Its headlights stayed off.
Bayo caught the reflection in his mirror. "We're not alone."
Tope tensed. "How many?"
"One car. Maybe two."
Dare reached for the glove compartment where a flare gun rested. "You think they'll try something here?"
"Not yet," Bayo said. "Too open. Too many eyes."
Lightning flashed, revealing the skyline behind them—Lagos, half-awake, still burning through its pain.
Bayo's grip on the wheel tightened. "They can chase shadows. But they can't stop what's already in motion."
"Meaning?" Tope asked.
He smiled slightly. "Before we left the café, I sent a copy of the file through an old relay node—one of the university's offline archives. If anything happens to us tonight, Lagos will still know."
Dare turned, shock flickering across his face. "You did what?"
Bayo's eyes stayed on the road. "Sometimes survival isn't the goal. Continuity is."
Rain hammered the windshield harder.
Tope leaned forward, voice low. "Then let's make it count."
The SUV behind them accelerated.
Bayo pressed the pedal. The engine roared. Water sprayed in arcs as they raced across the bridge, wind howling through broken seals. Ahead, the road curved northward into shadows.
"Hold on!" he shouted.
A blinding flash—lightning slammed the lagoon below, thunder exploding around them. For an instant, everything froze—then the SUV skidded, spun, and vanished behind a wall of rain.
Bayo kept driving, knuckles white, breath ragged.
When they finally reached the mainland exit, he slowed the car. The rain softened to mist. Lagos glimmered behind them—bruised but unbroken.
He turned to Tope. "You said Lagos deserves to breathe. Now it will."
Dare looked back one last time at the sleeping skyline. "And if they come for us?"
Bayo smiled faintly. "Then let them find nothing but echoes."
The car disappeared into the fog of the northern expressway.
Behind them, deep in the island's heart, the Chief stood before a dead monitor, cigar trembling in his hand. On the screen that flickered back to life, a headline crawled across a foreign news feed:
"EXCLUSIVE: Lagos North Scandal—Evidence Surfaces Linking Officials to Offshore Funds."
His reflection stared back at him—pale, furious, and afraid.
For the first time, the darkness wasn't his weapon. It was his mirror.