The "Cleaners" didn't give them time to recover. Okoro and two other operatives bundled Amina and Tunde into a different car a rugged, white Hilux that looked like it belonged to a construction firm.
"Protocol Sunfall?" Amina asked, her voice raspy. She was still holding Tunde's hand, and the blue glow between their palms hadn't faded. It felt like they were holding a warm, humming bird between them.
Okoro ignored her, barking into his radio. "Clear the toll points. I don't care if you have to trigger a 'LASTMA' emergency. We need a clear run to the 11.8-kilometer mark."
The Hilux tore through the empty streets of Ikeja, flying over potholes that would have snapped the axle of a regular car. As they hit the ramp onto the Third Mainland Bridge, the scale of the situation hit Amina.
The longest bridge in West Africa was completely empty.
No yellow danfo buses. No late-night trailers. Just a stretch of black asphalt suspended over the dark, oily waters of the Lagos Lagoon.
"Why is it empty?" Tunde asked, his voice sounding deeper, more resonant. The "King" inside him was waking up more every minute.
"We told the public there was a structural crack," Okoro said, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "But the crack isn't in the concrete. It's in the air."
They stopped at the highest point of the bridge. The wind here was fierce, whipping Amina's damp hair across her face. Okoro jumped out and signaled to a team already waiting by the railings. They were wearing heavy diving gear, but their oxygen tanks were filled with a glowing, neon-green gas.
"Look down," Okoro commanded.
Amina leaned over the edge. In the middle of the Lagoon, far below the bridge, the water wasn't black. There was a swirling, underwater vortex of violet and silver light. It looked like a giant eye opening in the depths of the sea.
"That is the Atlantic Rift," Okoro explained. "It's the strongest natural 'Thin-Spot' in Africa. Your ancestors called it the 'Gateway of the Deep.' We just call it the exit."
"You want us to jump?" Tunde asked, his eyes wide.
"Not jump," a voice said from behind them.
Mama B had arrived in a separate vehicle. She stepped out, her iron staff clinking on the asphalt. She looked tired, her Ankara wrap torn at the edges.
"The Void-Seekers are closing the land routes," she said, looking back toward the lights of Lagos Island. "They are folding space. If you try to drive out of Lagos, you'll just keep ending up back at the Mowe junction. The only way out is through the water."
Suddenly, the bridge groaned. It wasn't the wind.
From the direction of Oworonshoki, the very air began to peel back like old wallpaper. The silver-eyed man the Seeker emerged from the tear. He wasn't alone. Dozens of shadow-figures crawled out behind him, their elongated limbs scraping against the bridge's railings.
"The Star-Core!" the Seeker roared, his voice vibrating in Amina's teeth. "It belongs to the Void!"
"Get ready," Okoro shouted, his men leveling strange, bulky rifles at the approaching shadows. "Amina! Tunde! You have to jump together. If you lose contact during the fall, you'll be scattered across a thousand dimensions. Hold. Him. Tight."
Amina looked at the monster charging toward them, then at the swirling vortex in the water, and finally at her husband.
Tunde looked at the water, then back at the life he was leaving behind the job, the noisy neighbors, the unpaid bills. He squeezed Amina's hand so hard it hurt.
"I'm ready," he said. "No more rice."
"No more rice," Amina whispered.
They stepped onto the ledge of the Third Mainland Bridge.
"On my mark!" Mama B screamed, raising her staff. A barrier of orange light slammed down between them and the Seekers. "Now! JUMP!"
Amina and Tunde stepped off into the nothingness.
The fall felt like an eternity. The wind screamed past them, and for a second, the lights of Lagos looked like a beautiful, distant jewelry box. Then, the cold water hit them but it didn't feel like water.
It felt like falling into a dream.