CHAPTER 11 — The Aftermath
The night stretched long and heavy, pressing down on Adanna like a damp blanket.
The echoes of her last conversation with Kene still throbbed in her mind, his voice strained, his words sharp, half-truths wrapped in desperation.
She sat by the window of Tara's safehouse, a small flat tucked behind an abandoned warehouse in Utako. Outside, the wind carried faint city sounds, engines humming, a dog barking, distant music from a roadside bar. But here, everything felt quiet and suspended.
Tara had gone out an hour ago to "make a call," leaving Adanna alone with her thoughts. The files she had shown her earlier still lay open on the coffee table, full of old photos, documents stamped with government seals, coded communications between men she once interviewed for "small" corruption stories. But this was no longer small. The pattern was clear now Project Void wasn't just a whisper in the dark; it was a living organism feeding off power and fear.
Adanna's fingers trembled as she lifted a photograph. It showed Kene in a dim corridor, shaking hands with someone whose face had been blacked out. The timestamp read two months before the explosion that destroyed the Abuja data center. The same explosion that had killed three journalists and forced her into hiding. Her stomach clenched.
She had trusted Kene. She had believed he was her one anchor when the ground beneath her kept shifting. But now? The lines between friend, lover, and liar blurred until they hurt to look at.
The silence broke with the vibration of her burner phone. She flinched, heart pounding. Unknown number. Again.
She hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end was hoarse, urgent. "Adanna… don't hang up."
Kene.
Her throat went dry.
Adanna: "Where are you?"
"Not where you think," he said quickly. "I didn't betray you. You have to believe me. They're watching you
Tara, too. She's not...."
The line crackled violently, a low noise filling her ear. Then silence.
Adanna's pulse raced. "Kene? Kene!"
Nothing. The call was gone.
She stared at the phone, her hands shaking. Tara, not trustworthy? The thought twisted her gut. But Tara had risked her own safety to help her, hadn't she? Still… Kene's voice had sounded real. Not defensive, but frightened.
A creak came from the hallway.
Adanna froze.
She hadn't locked the door when Tara left. Slowly, she reached for the table lamp and turned it off. Darkness swallowed the room, leaving only the silver moonlight spilling through the curtains.
Footsteps. Soft, deliberate. Not Tara's heels this was slower, heavier.
Her breath quickened. She backed away, reaching for her phone, but a faint click came from the corner; metal, not plastic. Someone was loading a gun.
"Who's there?" she whispered.
A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and masked, holding a silenced pistol. His steps were careful, trained. He wasn't there to scare her. He was there to finish something.
Adanna's mind raced. No weapon. No escape except the small window. She moved backward toward the kitchen, pretending to stumble. The intruder followed, quiet, certain.
Then, a sharp knock at the front door.
The intruder paused, his head snapping toward the sound. Adanna didn't waste a second. She grabbed the nearest thing, a glass bottle and hurled it at his hand. It shattered, and he fired a muffled shot that missed, embedding in the wall.
She bolted through the side door into the hallway, barefoot, heart hammering. Another gunshot followed, louder this time.
The knock turned into pounding. "Adanna! It's me!"
Tara's voice.
The masked man cursed under his breath and ran the other way, disappearing into the stairwell.
Tara burst in moments later, eyes wide, gun drawn. "Are you hurt?"
Adanna shook her head, trembling. "He was here. Someone was here armed. He knew where I was."
Tara cursed softly, scanning the room. "How? This place is off-grid."
Adanna wanted to tell her about Kene's call, about his warning, but something inside her hesitated. If Kene was right, if Tara wasn't who she said she was, then saying anything could be fatal.
So she lied. "I don't know. Maybe they traced my phone."
Tara nodded tightly. "Pack up. We're leaving now."
They moved quickly. Adanna stuffed the documents and her laptop into a small backpack while Tara made a few coded calls. The air felt charged, the walls closing in.
Minutes later, they were on a bike, weaving through the sleeping streets. The city lights blurred. Every shadow looked like danger. Every silence felt too long.
"Where are we going?" Adanna shouted over the wind.
Somewhere they won't think to look," Tara said. "Zuba. I have a contact there, off-grid, completely."
Adanna clutched the bag tighter. Inside were fragments of truth, but the pieces didn't fit yet. And somewhere out there, Kene was still alive, maybe running, maybe hiding. but still tied to all of what is happening.
When they reached Zuba, it was dawn already. The sky glowed orange over the distant hills. The safehouse this time was smaller, an old compound with cracked walls and a faint smell of dust and rain.
Adanna collapsed on a mattress in the corner, exhaustion washing over her. Her mind wouldn't rest, though. Kene's voice echoed again..."They're watching you… Tara too…"
She looked over at Tara, who was typing furiously on a laptop, sending encrypted messages. Her expression was calm, controlled. Too controlled.
Adanna's phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
Her blood ran cold. She glanced at Tara, then stepped outside quietly.
She answered.
A voice whispered, "If you want the truth, go to the old power station by midnight. Come alone."
Then the line went dead.
Adanna stood under the rising sun, her breath trembling. The world was tilting, allies becoming threats, enemies becoming saviors. But one thing was clear now: she couldn't trust anyone. Not Tara. Not Kene. Maybe not even herself.
And yet, she had to keep going. Because the truth was no longer just a story. It was survival. And surviving is winning.