They didn't stay long in the shattered shop.
Badland punished stillness.
Zara moved with purpose, already checking exits, peering through cracks in boarded windows. Dami watched her, realizing something important—this wasn't her first war. This was muscle memory.
"We can't use the roads," she said. "Too many eyes."
Dami adjusted the backpack on his shoulders. The weight felt different now. He knew what it carried. He knew what it meant.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"A ghost house."
He frowned. "That's not comforting."
"It's not meant to be."
They slipped out through a back alley just as headlights swept across the front of the shop. Zara pulled Dami into a narrow gap between buildings. They pressed against cold concrete, barely breathing as boots pounded past them.
One of the men stopped.
Dami's pulse thundered in his ears.
The man sniffed the air like a dog, then spat and moved on.
Zara waited a full ten seconds before moving again.
"Rule one," she whispered. "Never assume you're safe."
They traveled on foot for nearly an hour—through drainage paths, over collapsed fences, across rooftops slick with rain residue. Dami's legs burned, but he didn't complain. Complaints got you killed.
Finally, they reached a half-collapsed two-story building wedged between a burned-out clinic and a boarded supermarket.
Zara knocked three times. Paused. Knocked twice more.
Nothing happened.
She knocked again—harder.
A metal slot slid open. Eyes peered out.
Zara leaned close. "Tell Musa the fox is bleeding."
The slot slammed shut.
Moments later, the door creaked open.
Inside, the building looked abandoned, but Dami noticed the details—fresh footprints, wired lights, reinforced walls.
A man stepped forward. Short, heavyset, scar running down his cheek. His eyes locked on the backpack instantly.
"You brought fire to my door," he said.
Zara met his stare. "I brought truth."
The man sighed. "That's worse."
He nodded toward Dami. "Who's the boy?"
"Bello's mistake," Zara said.
The man studied Dami. "He doesn't look like a fighter."
Dami shrugged. "Neither does Badland. Still kills people daily."
The man barked a short laugh. "I like him."
He stepped aside. "I'm Musa. Welcome to the ghost house."
Inside, Dami saw screens—security feeds from different parts of the city. Maps. Radios. Weapons laid out with careful precision.
"This is a resistance cell," Dami said.
Musa nodded. "Small. Broken. Still breathing."
Zara pulled the case from the backpack and placed it on a table. "They're hunting this."
Musa's face darkened. "Then Bello knows."
"He always knows," Zara replied. "The question is how fast."
As if summoned, one of the screens flickered. A news broadcast filled the room.
"—breaking news—authorities are searching for Damilola Cole in connection with a violent incident involving armed suspects—"
Dami's name flashed across the screen.
His photo followed.
Musa whistled softly. "That was quick."
Dami felt cold. "They're framing me."
Zara's voice was flat. "They're erasing you."
The broadcast continued. "…considered armed and extremely dangerous…"
Musa shut the screen off.
"Congratulations," he said to Dami. "You're officially dead."
Dami sank into a chair. His face was everywhere now. No more invisibility.
"What happens to my family?" he asked quietly.
Zara looked away.
Musa answered instead. "If Bello is thorough—and he is—he'll use them as leverage."
Dami stood up so fast the chair clattered backward. "No."
Zara grabbed his arm. "Running to them will get them killed."
Dami's jaw tightened, fury burning through fear. "Then we strike first."
Musa raised an eyebrow. "You've never fired a gun."
Dami met his gaze. "I've been running from death my whole life. I'm done running."
Silence fell.
Musa exchanged a look with Zara.
Finally, Musa nodded. "Then you learn fast."
He opened a crate and slid a pistol across the table.
Dami stared at it.
The weight of the moment pressed down on him.
Zara stepped closer. "Once you pick that up, there's no going back."
Dami picked it up.
It felt heavy. Real. Final.
"Good," Musa said. "Because Bello just made his next move."
He turned one of the screens back on. CCTV footage showed a familiar place.
The roadside bar.
Smoke poured from its entrance.
Dami's heart stopped. "That's my cousin's place."
Zara swore. "He's sending a message."
Musa nodded grimly. "Badland rule: break what the target loves."
Dami clenched his fists. "Then we break him back."
Musa smiled—but there was no humor in it. "That's how wars start."
Outside, the city roared—engines, sirens, distant gunfire.
Badland was awake.
And it had chosen its prey carefully.
But it had also made a mistake.
For the first time, Dami wasn't running.
He was hunting.