Steve's POV
The night was colder than I remembered. It wasn't just the drop in temperature—there was a chill in the air that felt like the past itself had settled into the bones of the city, wrapping its fingers around me, squeezing tight. I sat alone on the rooftop of the safehouse, the rough concrete biting through my clothes, but I barely noticed. The faint glow of Lagos shimmered beneath a veil of darkness, its lights blinking like distant stars slowly dying out, indifferent to the bloodshed, the betrayals, the wars fought in narrow alleys and silent rooms.
The wind stirred the broken tiles, rattling loose debris with a sound like whispered memories—ghosts murmuring long-forgotten names and promises. I clenched my fists, feeling the rough, jagged scars on my palms—reminders of battles I'd fought and lost, promises I'd broken, and vengeance I'd carved into flesh.
The city was a beast, always hungry, always watching. And tonight, its eyes felt colder than ever.
I closed my eyes, trying to force the images away.
But every night, the ghosts came. The faces of men and women I once called family — now nothing but echoes drowned in blood and betrayal. I could see my father's eyes, calm and proud moments before the fire consumed him. I could hear my mother's voice, sharp and fierce, her last breath stolen by the very people who once called themselves allies.
The memories never faded.
They haunted me like a curse.
Jomiloju's soft footsteps echoed on the stairs, breaking the silence without a word. She didn't ask if she could sit. She simply came and settled beside me, close enough that her warmth began to seep through the chill, thawing parts of me I'd long buried.
I didn't look at her.
How could I? My past was a dark stain — one I wanted to keep locked away, far from her light.
But she did.
She always did.
Jomiloju's POV
Watching Steve unravel was like witnessing a wild storm finally breaking open.
The man I'd always seen as unbreakable, a pillar of strength and fury, cracked — exposing the jagged edges beneath the armor.
I wanted to reach for him, to pull him back from the abyss, but the silence between us screamed louder than any confession.
"What haunts you?" I finally asked, my voice barely a whisper against the cold night air.
He shifted beside me, his eyes heavy with memories too heavy to bear.
"My past," he said, voice rough and raw. "It's not just Koleosho's war. It's everything that made me who I am — the blood spilled, the family I lost."
I reached out, my hand brushing against his arm.
He didn't pull away.
Instead, I felt the tremor beneath his skin — a fragile reminder that even the strongest have cracks.
"Tell me," I urged gently, my breath mingling with the night.
Steve's POV
I closed my eyes, forcing the memories to the surface like dragging a corpse out of a shallow grave.
"My parents were kings once — powerful, respected. But the underworld is a cruel throne. Betrayal came from those closest to us. Friends turned enemies. Allies turned traitors. And I was left alone. A boy with nothing but fury and scars."
The words tasted like ash.
I opened my eyes to find Jomi watching me, her fierce tenderness cutting through the darkness I'd wrapped myself in.
"Every night," I continued, voice low, "I relive their deaths. The screams. The fire. The lies that killed us."
The rage flared again, hot and sharp, but tempered by something softer — her presence, steady and unyielding.
Jomiloju's POV
His confession pulled at something deep inside me — a raw ache of empathy and helplessness.
To carry such weight was a burden few could understand.
"You don't have to fight this alone," I said, voice trembling but fierce.
Steve turned toward me then — really looked at me — and I saw a flicker of hope beneath the pain.
"I'm tired of being the man my past made me," he confessed, voice cracking. "I want to be better. For you. For us."
My heart clenched.
Ada's POV
I stayed in the shadows, watching them.
Watching Steve unravel, and Jomi step carefully into the cracks with light.
My own guilt twisted tighter — a knot I couldn't untie.
I'd betrayed them both.
Not out of hate.
But out of fear.
Fear that if I didn't, I'd be dead.
But the price was higher than I ever imagined.
Every lie was another chain.
Every secret another wound.
Tunde's POV
The city was a powder keg, a breath away from explosion.
Koleosho's grip tightened every day — bolder, fiercer.
We had to strike fast.
But trust was a fragile weapon.
I scanned the faces around me, knowing one wrong move could shatter everything.
Steve's POV
The rooftop was colder now, the wind biting deeper.
But something flickered in the darkness.
A light.
Jomi's hand found mine — her fingers curling around mine with quiet strength.
"I'm not the man I was," I whispered.
"But some shadows never fade."
She squeezed my hand, eyes fierce and steady.
"Then we fight them. Together."
The city sprawled beneath us, dark and full of secrets.
But for the first time in a long time, I believed.
We could win.
Expanded Scenes and Emotional Layers
The Weight of Silence
We sat in silence for long minutes, the city's distant murmur blending with the soft rustling of leaves.
I glanced at Jomi.
Her eyes held a question, a plea.
I wanted to tell her everything — to unload the poison I carried.
But the words caught in my throat.
Sometimes the past is a prison without bars.
You carry it everywhere.
The Night's Confession
Finally, I let the memories spill.
The night my parents were taken.
The cold corridor.
The whispered threats.
The betrayal that tasted like blood.
Jomi listened, never flinching, never turning away.
Her presence was a balm.
A Flicker of Hope
When I finished, she squeezed my hand.
"You don't have to carry this alone," she said.
And in that moment, the weight felt a little lighter.
Ada's Torment
Later, Ada sat alone on the rooftop.
Her silhouette stark against the faint glow of streetlights.
She whispered apologies to the night.
Tears glistened like shattered glass.
Her betrayal was a wound, but so was the fear that drove her.
Tunde's Pressure
Downstairs, Tunde mapped our next move.
Every decision felt like a gamble.
One misstep could mean the end.
A Quiet Resolve
The dawn crept slowly.
We stayed on the rooftop, holding onto each other.
The past was a storm raging behind us.
The future?
Unwritten.
And we were ready.
Ready to write it.
Together.