Nia couldn't shake Dami from her mind. Her pencil scratched the sketchpad, drawing his sharp jaw and dark eyes over and over. Each line felt like a secret she couldn't keep. "You're losing it," Temi said, tossing her braids as they sat in the noisy campus canteen. "That guy's bad news—people say he's with some cult." Nia rolled her eyes, her heart beating fast. "He's just an artist, Temi. Chill." But the lie tasted sour. That tattoo on his wrist from last night, the creepy note—it all linked to her dad's old journal, hidden under her bed with its weird drawings. She had to see him again, no matter what.
Class was a drag. The lecturer droned on about colors, but Nia barely listened. She tapped her foot, her thoughts stuck on Dami's smile. After, she lied to Temi, saying she'd hit the library, but instead, she headed to a small café near campus. The place buzzed with students laughing, the air thick with fried yam and chatter. She picked a table by the window, her sketchpad open, waiting. Her hands shook as she drew him again, trying to figure him out.
Then he walked in. Dami looked even better—black shirt hugging his frame, jeans worn just right, that cool smile lighting up his face. He slid into the seat across from her, his eyes locking on hers. "You called?" he said, voice low and teasing.
"I didn't," Nia shot back, but a grin slipped out. "Just… wanted to talk."
He leaned closer, his hand brushing hers on the table. "About what? My art or my secrets?" His touch sent a shiver up her arm, warm and electric. She pulled back, laughing to hide how it hit her. "Your art," she said. "Show me something."
He pulled out a pen and started sketching on a napkin—quick, sure lines that turned into her face. "You're easy to draw," he teased. "All fire and focus." She watched, her chest tight. He was too good, like he knew her already. They talked about painting, his voice smooth as he shared tips, making her laugh. But then she saw it: a man outside, staring through the window. He had the same snake-with-a-star tattoo as Dami. Her stomach flipped.
"Who's that?" she asked, nodding toward the guy.
Dami glanced, his smile dropping. "Nobody. Just… a friend." He grabbed her hand, pulling her attention back. "Forget him." His grip was firm, but his eyes were hard. Before she could push, he leaned in and kissed her. It was quick, hot, his lips soft but demanding. Her mind went blank, her body leaning in before she caught herself. When he pulled away, he whispered, "Don't ask too much, Nia."
She blinked, dizzy. "You can't just—" But he stood, tossing some cash on the table. "See you soon," he said, then walked out. The man with the tattoo followed, vanishing into the night. Nia sat there, heart pounding. That kiss was trouble, but she wanted more. She touched her lips, still feeling him, then grabbed her bag and left.
Back at her hostel, she tried to focus on homework, but the room felt off. Drawers were open, clothes thrown around like someone had searched it. She froze. On her mirror, scrawled in red lipstick, were the words: You were warned. Her breath caught. She ran to her bed, pulling out her dad's journal. The snake-star drawing stared back at her, matching the tattoo. This wasn't random—someone was after her.
A noise made her jump—footsteps outside her door. She held her breath, clutching the journal. The knob turned slowly. Her phone buzzed—Temi's name lit up. She answered, whispering, "Temi, someone's here—" The door creaked open. A tall shadow filled the frame, silent and scary. She dropped the phone, backing against the wall. "Who are you?" she shouted, but the figure stepped closer, a knife glinting in his hand. The lights flickered, showing the tattoo on his neck. Cult. Her mind screamed.
She grabbed a chair, swinging it as he lunged. It hit his arm, and he grunted, stumbling back. "Stay away!" she yelled, her voice shaking. Papers flew as she dodged, the journal slipping to the floor. She kicked it under the bed, heart racing. The man growled, coming at her again. She threw a book at him, then ran for the window. It was stuck. He grabbed her arm, his grip tight. She twisted free, elbowing his chest. He cursed, falling back.
The door banged open—another figure. Temi? No, another cult guy, his eyes cold. Nia ducked, crawling toward her desk. She grabbed a pen, holding it like a weapon. "Leave me alone!" she screamed. The first man recovered, blocking her escape. She was trapped. The second guy laughed, a low, creepy sound. "You're his now," he said. Her blood ran cold. Whose? Dami's?
A crash came from the hall—shouts, then silence. The men froze, looking back. Nia saw her chance, diving for the door. She slipped out, running down the stairs, her breath loud in her ears. At the bottom, she hid behind a wall, peeking up. The cult guys were gone, but the hallway was dark. Her phone buzzed again—Temi's voice crackled, "Nia, where are you?" She whispered back, "I'm okay, but they're here. Call someone!"
Before she could move, a hand grabbed her shoulder. She spun, ready to fight, but it was Dami. His face was tense, eyes wide. "Nia, come with me," he said, pulling her toward the exit. She yanked free. "You did this!" she snapped. He shook his head. "No, I'm saving you. Trust me." His voice was urgent, but she didn't know if she could. The cult symbol on his wrist glowed faintly in the dim light, and her dad's journal words echoed: Danger follows the marked.
A shout came from upstairs—cult men closing in. Dami grabbed her hand again, dragging her outside. The Lagos night hit her—neon signs, okada horns, the smell of rain. He pulled her into an alley, pressing her against the wall. "Stay quiet," he whispered, his body shielding hers. Footsteps passed, then faded. She pushed him back, breathing hard. "Why should I trust you?"
He looked at her, his eyes soft but scared. "Because they'll kill you if I don't." Before she could answer, a shadow moved at the alley's end—a cult figure, knife raised. Dami shoved her behind him, facing the threat. The man charged, and Dami tackled him, the two crashing into the dark.
Nia stood frozen, her heart in her throat. The fight was a blur—grunts, a thud, then silence. Dami stood, breathing hard, the man down. "We have to go," he said, holding out his hand. She stared at it, the tattoo glaring back. Trust him or run? The choice hung heavy as footsteps echoed again, closer this time.