Ibadan Outskirts — Evening
The road to Ibadan wound like a serpent through the quiet earth, its silence thick enough to make the heart uneasy. The fading light spilled gold and crimson across the horizon, as if the sky itself had bled from the day's exhaustion.
Bayo's hands tightened around the steering wheel, veins standing like cords. His eyes were forward, but his thoughts ran backward—to the tunnels, to the gunfire, to the echo of Ayo's last words swallowed by the dark. They had escaped Abeokuta alive, but "alive" no longer felt like victory.
Beside him, Tope leaned against the window. Her reflection, half-lit by the dashboard glow, looked older—worn down by sleepless nights and silent grief. The last checkpoint had cost them their SUV and their nerve. The abandoned taxi they'd commandeered rattled with each mile, its every cough matching the tremor in her chest.
"You should sleep," Bayo murmured.
"I'll rest when I forget," she said, eyes still closed.
He didn't answer. Some truths required silence.
Outside, the drizzle began—thin, uncertain drops tapping against the windshield. They washed dust away but not the memory of those they'd left buried behind.
Bayo exhaled. "Eagle-One used to say the quiet after a mission is the most dangerous time. That's when your heart starts asking questions your head can't answer."
Tope cracked one eye open. "You still believe in his rules?"
"I stopped believing in rules the day we stopped knowing who the enemy was."
~ ~ ~
Ibadan — 8:27 p.m.
By the time they reached the city, the rain had grown into a steady whisper. Neon lights bled through the mist—blue, red, green—like faint heartbeats of a weary metropolis. The smell of suya and diesel smoke drifted through half-deserted markets.
Bayo slowed near Bodija. The city moved differently here—measured, cautious, watching from the corners of shuttered stalls.
Tope stirred. "We're here?"
"Almost," he said.
They turned into a narrow street lined with rusted zinc fences. The headlights fell on an old, dented sign:
ADEKUNLE'S WELDING SHOP — CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
Bayo cut the engine. "This is it."
Tope frowned. "You brought me to a workshop?"
"Not just any workshop." He pushed open the gate.
Behind it lay a dim courtyard and an old man seated beneath a lantern. His frame was wiry but unbowed, his eyes sharp even in shadow.
"Eagle-One," Bayo said softly.
The man looked up, and his face broke into a faint smile. "Still breathing, are we?"
Bayo's voice caught. "You're alive."
"Alive enough," Eagle-One replied, his gravelly tone carrying a ghost of laughter. "Now get inside before someone decides you're worth reporting."
~ ~ ~
Inside the Safe House
The interior smelled of kerosene and damp iron. Rusted tools hung beside a faded photograph of soldiers in camouflage, their smiles long dead.
Eagle-One poured them water. "Heard the explosion in Abeokuta. Knew you'd find your way here. You always were predictable when cornered."
Tope accepted the cup. "You trained him?"
Eagle-One nodded. "Bayo was my sharpest mind—until he started asking why instead of how."
"You taught me to survive," Bayo said.
"And you turned survival into conscience," the old man muttered. "That's what gets men killed faster than bullets."
Thunder rolled faintly beyond the walls. The air inside trembled with memory.
Tope finally spoke, voice fragile. "We lost Ayo."
The old man's hand paused mid-motion. "He didn't make it?"
"He stayed behind," Bayo said quietly. "Held the gate."
A long silence followed. Then Eagle-One sighed. "The boy had fire. The kind that burns itself out before dawn."
No one replied. The room filled with the sound of the rain's return—soft, rhythmic, merciless.
~ ~ ~
Midnight — The Weight of Silence
Rain hammered the zinc roof like a thousand fists. Tope sat watching its trails slide down the cracked glass. Bayo cleaned his pistol with mechanical precision, movements too slow to hide the storm beneath.
"Do you ever think about going back?" Tope asked.
He didn't look up. "Back where?"
"Before this. Before the network. Before shadows had names."
He set the gun down. "There's no 'before' anymore. Just the ruins of what we thought we were."
Tope moved closer, studying his face in the flicker of lamplight. "You think Ayo would've wanted this?"
Bayo's jaw tightened. "He knew what he signed up for. We all did."
She hesitated, then reached out and hugged him. The contact startled them both—two soldiers clinging to something human amid the wreckage of purpose.
When she pulled away, her whisper barely rose above the rain. "We're all that's left, Bayo."
He nodded slowly. "Then we hold the line."
~ ~ ~
Flashback — The Jungle Camp
The storm outside deepened, and Bayo's mind slipped backward to another rain, another war.
He saw himself younger, standing drenched in mud while Eagle-One's voice cut through the thunder.
"Survival," the commander said, "isn't about strength. It's about purpose. Forget why you fight, and you've already lost."
At the time, Bayo believed him. He believed the Network stood for justice.
Now, he knew better. Justice was just another code word for control.
~ ~ ~
Later — 2:14 a.m.
The generator stuttered to life, filling the room with dim orange light. Tope slept uneasily on a wooden bench, her breathing shallow. Bayo stood by the window, staring into the rain-washed street.
A van crept past, headlights dimmed. For a second, it stopped—then moved on.
His hand went instinctively to his weapon.
"They're sniffing already," Eagle-One said from behind him. "You didn't come here unseen."
"I left a false trail," Bayo replied.
"False trails don't last forever." Eagle-One handed him a folded map. "Go north at dawn. There's a contact near Oyo—someone who still owes me."
"And you?"
"I'm too old to run. Some ghosts guard the gates they built."
Bayo gripped his shoulder. "Thank you."
Eagle-One's smile was weary. "Don't thank me, son. Just finish what we began—and make sure it means something this time."
~ ~ ~
Ibadan North — Dawn
The rain had eased to a mist. Morning broke pale and reluctant over the city's rooftops. The air smelled of wet earth and something older—regret, maybe.
Bayo packed their things quietly. Tope joined him, hair damp, eyes steady.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded. "Where to now?"
"North. Until the wind stops chasing us."
As the car rolled away, she looked back at the welding shop shrinking in the mist. "He'll be fine?"
Bayo didn't answer. He couldn't.
The road stretched ahead—narrow, uncertain, endless.
Tope broke the silence. "You think the wind remembers?"
"The wind?"
"The dead," she said softly. "The ones who made sure we still breathe."
He didn't respond. But his grip on the wheel tightened, and the silence that followed was heavier than words.
Far behind them, as dawn rose like smoke over Ibadan, a single gunshot echoed through the hills.
Eagle-One never saw the van leave.