The building didn't look evil. White walls. Glass doors. A front desk painted in pastel pink like it belonged in a children's hospital.
But Ayo knew better.
Monsters don't always hide in shadows. Sometimes they wear scrubs and ask how you feel.
She walked in without flinching. No wig. No smile. Her real hair — coiled, wild, free. She was done hiding.
Cynthia, the receptionist, blinked up from her desk. Same lashes. Same chipped nails. Same fake concern.
"Hi, do you have an appoint—"
"I'm here to see Dr. Oke."
The name dropped like acid in the silence. Cynthia hesitated. Something flickered in her expression, a memory maybe — or fear.
"I'll let him know," she said, voice smaller now.
---
Dr. Oke was the first man who taught her silence. The first man who ever said, "This stays between us."
He hadn't aged much. His office still smelled of mint and rot.
"Ayo," he said, like a fond uncle. She didn't speak. She dropped the file. Photos. Audio. Names. Receipts. Transcripts.
"Do you remember her?" she asked. "Funke? She died two years ago."
He didn't reply.
"And Ada? You signed her discharge papers like nothing happened."
He stood, voice rising. "You don't know what you're playing with."
"I know exactly what I'm doing."
Her voice was fire. Calm, burning fire.
---
Ayo had spent the last three months planting seeds. Uploading documents to secure cloud servers. Trigger emails waiting to go off if she didn't check in every 48 hours. Whistleblowers ready. Survivors ready. Media ready.
This wasn't just revenge. It was exposure.
By the time she walked out, the building was already swarming. Journalists. Activists. The Commission for Women's Justice.
And him? He was still behind his glass desk. Watching it all burn.
---
Outside, the air felt heavier. Like thunder was about to break.
She didn't cry. Not yet. But something inside her — that cold, buried thing — cracked.
A girl died in this building. Another never came back. Another was told she was lying.
But Ayo walked out. Alive. Unbroken. On fire.
---
In the distance, someone asked her name for the news.
She smiled, just a little.
"Tell them I'm no one."
She walked away, coat swinging, ashes in her footsteps.
But across the country, survivors were already waking up to her story.
And the silence? It was burning.