Morning in Lagos did not feel calm.
Dayo noticed it before he even opened his eyes.
His phone was vibrating against the bedside table in a constant rhythm. Not occasional notifications. Continuous ones. The kind that meant something outside had blowing up which suprise him as he had not done anything to stand out.
He sat up slowly and rubbed his face.
The house was quiet. Early light filtered through the curtains. Somewhere downstairs someone was making tea.
His phone buzzed again.
He picked it up.
Messages everywhere.
Mentions. Notifications. News alerts.
For a moment he frowned because something felt strange.
He had not released anything.
He unlocked the phone and opened the first message Sharon had sent.
A link.
No explanation.
He tapped it.
The video opened.
At first he didn't understand what he was looking at.
Then the memory clicked.
The roadside. The boy with the sack. The haircut. The restaurant.
The shop.
