The Blurred Line
Monday morning in Lagos felt different. Usually, the cacophony of yellow Danfo buses, the shouting of conductors at CMS, and the relentless heat were just background noise to Precious's hustle. Today, it felt like someone had turned the volume of the world up to a frequency only he could hear.
His mother's concoction was working. It sat heavy in his gut, a warm, pulsing energy that radiated toward his fingertips.
"Guy, you okay? You've been staring at that woman for five minutes," Chucks said, nudging him as they stood near the bus stop at Sabo.
Precious blinked, snapping his eyes away from a fruit seller across the street. To any passerby, she was just an old woman in a faded buba. But to Precious, her skin seemed to shimmer with a dull, grey translucence, and her fingers, as she bagged oranges, looked a fraction too long, ending in points that weren't quite nails.
"I'm fine, Chucks. Just... didn't sleep well," Precious lied. The "Unveiling" was making his head spin. He remembered his mom's warning: Keep it a secret. The secret protects the people around you.
"Abeg, adjust your mind," Chucks laughed, adjusting his own tie. "We get big fish to catch today. That real estate guy on the Island? If we close that loan, our commission go loud!"
Precious nodded, trying to focus on his targets. He was a sales rep for a Microfinance bank; he needed these signatures. But as they boarded a bus toward Lagos Island, the cramped space became a nightmare. In the crowded seats, he saw things he couldn't unsee. The man behind him had pupils that remained slit-like even in the dim light. A young girl holding her mother's hand had a shadow that didn't match her movement—it moved with a predatory grace, independent of the light source.
Don't look. Don't react, he told himself, his heart hammering against his ribs.
By the time they reached the high-rise office on the Island, Precious was sweating. They were there to meet Mr. Adeleke, a wealthy developer looking for a massive expansion loan. The office was sleek, all glass and marble, overlooking the Atlantic.
"Mr. Balogun, Mr. Chucks, come in," a deep, melodic voice called out.
Mr. Adeleke was the picture of success: a sharp suit, a gold watch, and a smile that reached his eyes. But as Precious stepped forward to shake his hand, the "Sight" flared.
The heat in Precious's stomach surged. For a split second, the handsome man vanished. In his place stood something tall, gaunt, with skin the color of wet ash and eyes like glowing embers. The smell of ozone and old earth hit Precious's nostrils.
Precious froze, his hand trembling inches from Adeleke's.
"Precious?" Chucks whispered, confused by his friend's sudden paralysis.
Adeleke's smile widened, but it didn't feel friendly anymore. It felt like a predator watching a cub. "Is something wrong, young man? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Precious forced his breathing to slow. He knows, Precious realized. He can tell I can see him. "Just... the AC, sir," Precious stammered, forcing himself to grip the cold, clammy hand of the creature. "It's a bit chilling in here."
"Indeed," Adeleke said, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with a hidden power. "Sometimes, the world is much colder than we prepared for."
As they sat down to discuss the loan, Precious realized his job wasn't just about sales anymore. He was sitting across from a monster, and he was the only one in the room who knew it.
The air in Mr. Adeleke's office didn't just feel cold; it felt thin, as if the presence of the creature was sucking the oxygen out of the room. Chucks was busy opening his leather briefcase, pulling out the loan disbursement forms and the repayment schedule with the practiced ease of a man who smelled a promotion.
"So, Mr. Adeleke," Chucks began, his voice bright and oblivious. "Based on your collateral in Lekki Phase 1, the bank is prepared to offer a competitive interest rate. We just need to verify the—"
"The boy," Adeleke interrupted. He wasn't looking at the papers. He was staring directly at Precious. "He hasn't said a word. Is he always this quiet, or is he just overwhelmed by the view?"
Precious felt a bead of sweat roll down his spine. Through his "Sight," the office had transformed. The expensive mahogany desk looked like it was stained with old, dried blood. The shadows in the corners of the room weren't staying still; they were stretching toward him like questing fingers.
"I'm just... taking it all in, sir," Precious said, his voice steadier than he felt.
Inside, the concoction his mother gave him was beginning to react. It wasn't just a warm pulse anymore; it was a low-frequency hum in his bones. He could hear Mr. Adeleke's heart—or lack thereof. Instead of a rhythmic thump-thump, there was a sound like a heavy stone being dragged over gravel every ten seconds.
Slow. Too slow for a human, Precious thought.
"Take it in, then," Adeleke said, leaning back. His human skin seemed to fit him like a suit that was one size too small. He moved with a jerky, unnatural stillness. "I find that people in your line of work—collectors, hunters of debt—often have a hidden depth. Tell me, Precious Balogun, what do you see when you look at my portfolio?"
He pushed a folder across the desk. As Precious reached for it, his fingers brushed against the polished wood. Suddenly, a vision flashed in his mind. He didn't see balance sheets or land titles. He saw a dark alleyway behind a popular nightclub on the Island. He saw this same creature, stripped of its human mask, standing over a slumped figure.
Precious recoiled, his chair screeching against the marble floor.
"Precious! Wetin dey worry you?" Chucks hissed, looking embarrassed. "Sorry, sir. My friend is a bit stressed. Family issues."
Adeleke's eyes—the ember-glow behind the human pupils—flashed with amusement. "Family issues can be quite... transformative. I know the Balogun name. It carries a certain weight in the older circles of Lagos. I didn't realize there were any left in the 'sales' business."
The threat was veiled, but it was there. This creature knew his lineage. It knew he was a Hunter before he even knew it himself.
"We are a hardworking family, sir," Precious replied, his hand instinctively going to his pocket. He felt something there—a small, hard object he hadn't noticed before. It was a stone his mother must have slipped into his trousers while he was sleeping. It was cold, vibrating in sync with his heartbeat.
The moment he touched the stone, the office stabilized. The shadows retreated. The "Sight" became clearer, less overwhelming. He realized the stone was a stabilizer, a tool to help him focus his new power.
"Let's look at the numbers," Precious said, his voice now cold and professional. He opened the folder.
For the next forty minutes, it was a battle of wills. Precious didn't just talk about interest rates; he looked for the "holes" in Adeleke's story. The "Sight" showed him that the businesses Adeleke claimed to own were fronts—empty buildings used for something far more sinister than real estate. They were "lairs."
Chucks was thrilled, thinking they were closing the deal of a lifetime. But Precious was doing something else: he was mapping the enemy's territory.
"You're sharp," Adeleke noted as the meeting concluded. He stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light from the window. "Most people just see the gold watch and the office. You see the foundation. I like that. We shall be seeing much more of each other, Precious. I think your 'Unveiling' is going to make our relationship very... profitable."
As they walked out of the building and back into the humid Lagos afternoon, Chucks let out a victory yell. "Guy! We blow! That man go sign by Friday! Omo, the commission go reach buy car!"
Precious didn't answer. He was looking at his hand. The skin where he had shaken Adeleke's hand was beginning to turn a faint, bruised purple. The "Mujemuje" or whatever Adeleke was had left a mark.
"Chucks, I need to go see my parents," Precious said abruptly.
"Now? We suppose go office go log this lead!"
"Tell the Team Lead I'm following up on a physical verification," Precious said, already hailing a bike. "I'll be back tomorrow."
He needed answers. The mark on his hand was starting to itch, and the "Sight" wasn't turning off. As the bike sped through the traffic of the Third Mainland Bridge, Precious looked out at the Lagoon. Under the water, he saw shapes—huge, elongated shadows that no fish should have.
Lagos was crawling with them. And he was the only one with a target on his back.
When he reached his parents' house, his father was sitting on the porch, sharpening a long, curved blade that didn't look like any kitchen knife Precious had ever seen. The metal had strange engravings that seemed to glow in the twilight.
His father didn't look up. "You met one of the Elders today, didn't you?"
Precious stopped at the gate, held up his purple-stained hand. "He knew my name, Dad. He knew the family."
His father finally looked up, his eyes hard as flint. "Of course he did. We've been killing his kind for four hundred years. The mark on your hand is a tracker. He's not waiting for a loan, Precious. He's waiting for the sun to go down so he can see if you're as strong as your grandfather was."
Precious felt a chill that had nothing to do with the AC on the Island. "What do I do?"
His father stood up and tossed the curved blade. It landed at Precious's feet, vibrating in the dirt. "Stop being a sales rep for five minutes. Pick up the steel. The first lesson of the Unveiling isn't how to see them—it's how to make them fear being seen."