The SUV didn't slow until the city thinned into half-lit streets and abandoned storefronts. Here, Badland breathed slower—but deeper—like a predator resting between kills.
Zara finally pulled into a mechanic's yard fenced with rusted iron. The gate slid open just enough to let them through, then slammed shut behind them. Darkness swallowed the vehicle as she killed the engine.
"Out," she said.
Dami stepped down, legs stiff, every muscle buzzing with leftover adrenaline. The rain had stopped, leaving the air thick and metallic. A generator hummed somewhere nearby.
Inside the yard sat a low concrete building with barred windows. No sign. No name.
A safe place—if such a thing existed.
Zara unlocked the door and flicked on a single bulb. The room was bare: a table, two chairs, a couch with torn fabric, and a wall covered in old maps and newspaper clippings. Bullet holes pocked one corner like scars that refused to heal.
"Sit," she said.
Dami didn't argue. He lowered himself into a chair, keeping the backpack close to his feet.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
Zara was younger than he'd expected—late twenties, maybe. Calm eyes, sharp jaw, the posture of someone always ready to move. No wasted energy.
"You run like someone who's done this before," she said.
"Life teaches fast lessons," Dami replied. "Why help me?"
She leaned against the table. "Because you're not supposed to be alive."
That answer landed heavier than gunfire.
"Chief Kadir Bello doesn't make mistakes," she continued. "If his men were sent after you, it's because something went wrong."
Dami's stomach tightened. "You know him."
"Unfortunately."
She gestured to the backpack. "Open it."
Dami hesitated. "I don't even know what's inside."
Zara's eyes hardened. "Exactly."
He reached down, pulled the bag onto the table, and slowly unzipped it. The metal case gleamed under the bulb, cold and unmarked.
No logos. No locks.
Just weight.
Dami lifted it. "This thing almost got me killed."
Zara stepped closer. "It already has."
She pressed a hidden latch. The case clicked open.
Inside lay a compact hard drive encased in shock-proof plating. Beneath it—documents. Physical paper. That alone made Dami's pulse spike.
"No one uses paper anymore," he said.
"Unless they don't want to be hacked," Zara replied.
She spread the documents out.
Photos. Transactions. Names.
Police commissioners. Military contractors. Politicians. Judges.
And at the center of it all—Chief Kadir Bello.
Dami swallowed. "This is evidence."
"Proof," Zara corrected. "Of arms trafficking, election rigging, assassinations."
Dami picked up a photo of a burned-out building. "That fire in Ajegunle… thirty people died."
Zara nodded once. "He ordered it."
Silence filled the room, thick and suffocating.
"So why me?" Dami asked. "Why give this to a delivery runner?"
"Because you're invisible," she said. "Or you were."
She met his eyes. "The original courier panicked. Tried to sell the package. Bello had him killed. You were the backup—someone no one would look twice at."
Dami laughed bitterly. "Congratulations. It worked too well."
Zara didn't smile.
"They didn't expect you to escape," she said. "Now the city's locked on you like a heat signature."
Dami leaned back, rubbing his face. "So what now?"
Zara closed the case. "Now we move."
"We?"
She studied him. "You want to run?"
He thought of the gunfire. The hunters. The way Badland had turned on him in minutes.
"There's nowhere to run," he said quietly.
"Good," Zara replied. "Because this can burn Bello's empire to the ground."
Dami stared at the case. "Or get us buried under it."
Zara smiled—thin, dangerous. "Both can be true."
A loud bang hit the gate outside.
Metal rattled.
Both of them froze.
Zara moved first, drawing a pistol from beneath her jacket. "Lights off."
Darkness swallowed the room again.
Another bang—harder.
A voice shouted outside. "Open the gate! Police!"
Dami's heart sank. "You said sirens don't mean help."
"They don't."
Zara peered through a crack in the wall. "Unmarked unit. No badges."
The gate screeched.
"They found us already?" Dami whispered.
Zara shook her head slowly. "No. Someone told them."
The implication hung heavy.
She turned to Dami. "Did anyone know where you were coming tonight?"
He thought fast. "Only the contact who gave me the bag."
"And anyone you called?"
He froze.
"My cousin," he said. "He runs the bar. I texted him earlier."
Zara cursed under her breath. "Phones are liabilities."
Footsteps entered the yard.
Zara grabbed the case and shoved it into the backpack. "Follow me. Now."
They slipped through a back door into a narrow passage barely wide enough to breathe. Zara pressed a switch. A panel slid open, revealing a ladder leading underground.
Gunshots erupted above them.
Plaster rained down.
Dami climbed, lungs burning, heart slamming against his ribs. They dropped into a tunnel that smelled of damp earth and fuel.
Zara sealed the hatch just as bullets punched into the floor above.
They ran—bent low, stumbling through darkness lit only by Zara's phone.
After several turns, they burst into another building—a derelict shop with shattered glass and graffiti-splashed walls.
Safe. For now.
Dami leaned against the wall, gasping.
"They're getting faster," he said.
"They'll keep coming," Zara replied. "Until the case is back in Bello's hands."
Dami straightened. "Then let's make sure it never gets there."
Zara studied him carefully—measuring, weighing.
"You sure?" she asked. "This road doesn't end clean."
Dami thought of the photos. The names. The bodies.
Badland didn't care about clean endings.
"I didn't choose this," he said. "But I won't run from it."
Zara nodded once.
"Then welcome to the war."
Outside, sirens wailed again—closer this time.
Badland was closing in.
And for the first time, Dami realized the truth:
The city wasn't just hunting him anymore.
It was afraid of what he carried.