Jomiloju's POV
The night cloaked Lagos in a suffocating darkness, broken only by the scattered flickers of distant street lamps and the faint pulse of neon signs fading in the distance. The safehouse felt like a tomb—walls thick with secrets and silence that pressed heavy against my skin. Every breath I took was measured, every heartbeat a countdown to something I couldn't yet name.
I sat near the cracked window, watching shadows dance across the empty street. My mind raced, replaying the last few days over and over—the ambush, the revelation of the traitor, Steve's haunted confession about Amara, the secret meeting in the warehouse. The pieces of this dangerous puzzle were beginning to fit together, but the full picture was more terrifying than I had imagined.
A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.
Steve slipped inside without a word, his dark eyes searching mine, fierce yet tired.
"We can't stay here long," he said, voice low, like a warning wrapped in exhaustion.
I nodded. "I know."
Steve's POV
The weight of leadership wasn't just in the decisions — it was in the constant vigilance, the endless question: Who could be trusted? Who was watching us right now?
The betrayal was a poison that had seeped into every corner of my life, and I was running out of time to find the cure.
Jomi was more than a survivor; she was a spark in the darkness, a reason to keep fighting. But I had to protect her—from Koleosho, from the traitors in our midst, and from myself.
Tonight, we moved again. A safer location, one with fewer eyes and tighter defenses.
But moving meant risk.
Jomiloju's POV
We packed light — essentials only. My fingers trembled as I folded the few clothes I had left, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me.
As we prepared to leave, I caught Steve's gaze.
"Whatever happens," I said, voice steady despite the storm inside, "we survive."
He smiled, a rare, vulnerable curve of his lips that felt like a lifeline.
"Together," he promised.
The Journey
The streets of Lagos slipped past like ghosts as our convoy wound through back alleys and deserted roads. The city's usual chaos felt distant—muted by the danger that lurked beneath every corner.
I rode beside Steve, watching the tension tighten the muscles in his jaw.
I wanted to reach out, to tell him everything I was feeling—fear, hope, the strange pull between us—but words caught in my throat.
Steve's POV
Every turn, every shadow held a threat. I kept my hand close to my weapon, senses sharpened by years in the underworld.
We weren't just running from enemies outside. The real danger was within.
As we approached the new safehouse—a renovated warehouse surrounded by high walls and guarded gates—I felt the first flicker of relief.
Maybe here, we could breathe.
Jomiloju's POV
The new safehouse was cold, sterile, and unfamiliar. It lacked the fragile warmth of the last place, but the security was undeniable.
We moved inside, the door shutting behind us like the closing of a chapter.
In the dim light, Steve pulled me close.
"I don't want to lose you," he confessed, voice raw.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away.
"Then don't."
The Whispers Begin
That night, as I lay on the narrow cot, I heard it—the faintest sound, a whisper carried on the wind through cracks in the walls.
At first, I thought it was the city breathing, but the whispers grew clearer, like secrets trying to break free.
I sat up, heart pounding, listening.
"Jomi…"
The voice was distant, fragile, but unmistakably real.
Steve's POV
I woke to find her gone.
Panic surged through me, primal and fierce.
I found her at the window, eyes wide, staring into the dark.
"What is it?" I demanded.
She shook her head. "I heard something."
The underworld was no place for ghosts—but sometimes, the past had a way of reaching out.
A Night of Tension
We spent the next hours searching the safehouse, every shadow a possible threat.
The men were restless, fingers twitching near triggers, eyes scanning every corner.
I could feel the walls closing in.
But then, the whispering started again.
Jomiloju's POV
This time, I heard it clearer.
A voice — soft, urgent, desperate.
"Help me."
I shivered, my mind racing.
Was it a trap? A trick? Or something more?
Steve's POV
I wanted to tell her to ignore it.
But something in her eyes told me she wouldn't.
We had to be ready for whatever this was.
The enemy was watching.
And now, so was something else.
The End of the Night
Dawn crept over Lagos, washing the city in pale light.
We were still alive.
Still fighting.
But the shadows around us had deepened.
And the whispers in the dark promised that the war was far from over.