By the time they reached Bamidele’s shop, Kade had developed a personal hatred for potholes.
Every uneven patch of pavement sent fresh pain through his ankle.
Tobi had stopped making jokes about it.
That worried Kade more than the swelling.
"You’re getting heavy," Tobi muttered.
"I’m seventy-three kilograms."
"You’re seventy-three kilograms of bad decisions."
"Still carrying me, though."
"Unfortunately, friendship isn’t refundable."
They stopped outside the repair shop.
The shutters were down.
A handwritten sign read:
BACK IN THIRTY MINUTES.
Tobi stared at it.
"Thirty minutes from when?"
Kade lowered himself onto an overturned plastic crate.
"Knowing Lagos, possibly last Thursday."
Tobi knocked.
Nothing.
He knocked again.
A voice answered from inside.
"If it’s about the television, I said tomorrow!"
"Bamidele!" Kade called.
Silence.
Then footsteps.
The shutter lifted several inches.
Bamidele peered out.
His expression changed immediately.
"What happened to you?"
Tobi pointed at Kade.
"He discovered that jumping from a second-floor window doesn’t improve an existing ankle injury."
Bamidele stared.
"You did what?"
"Can we discuss my poor judgment indoors?"
The repairman opened the shutter.
Bamidele locked the door behind them.
His shop smelled of solder, dust, and overheated plastic.
Half-repaired phones covered the counter. A small standing fan pushed warm air around the room.
Kade sat on a wooden bench.
Bamidele examined his ankle without touching it.
"That needs medical attention."
"I know."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because someone tried to take me."
Bamidele’s face tightened.
"Who?"
"A cultivator. Vessel Realm. Dark jacket. Used cutting threads made of Ase."
Bamidele slowly straightened.
"Did he say who sent him?"
"No."
"Did you fight him?"
Kade glanced at his ankle.
"Does this look like I won?"
Tobi raised a finger.
"Technically, we escaped."
"Technically," Bamidele said, "you should both be dead."
"That’s becoming a popular opinion."
Bamidele ignored him.
He pulled up a chair.
"Tell me everything."
They did.
The woman in grey.
The bus accident.
Tobi’s warning.
The classroom.
The hunter.
And the phone call that had stopped the pursuit.
Bamidele listened without interrupting.
When Kade finished, the repairman remained silent for several seconds.
Then he looked at Tobi.
"You knew the accident was coming?"
Tobi shifted uncomfortably.
"I had a bad feeling."
"How certain were you?"
"Not certain at all."
"Has it happened again?"
"No."
Bamidele nodded.
"Then don’t assume you understand it."
Tobi looked relieved.
"Finally. Someone agrees with me."
Kade leaned forward.
"That’s not why we came."
Bamidele looked at him.
"I know."
Kade took out the folded paper containing the telephone number.
Bamidele’s eyes settled on the paper.
"What?"
Kade watched him carefully.
"Where did you shelter during the heavy rains?"
The repairman’s expression went still.
The fan rattled in the corner.
Outside, someone shouted about a missing generator cable.
Bamidele stood.
Walked to the shutter.
Checked the lock.
Then returned.
"Did she use those exact words?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell her your name?"
"No."
"Good."
Kade hesitated.
"I mentioned my mother’s name."
Bamidele closed his eyes briefly.
"That wasn’t wise."
"She said the same thing."
"Then listen next time."
Tobi looked between them.
"Can somebody explain why we’re discussing rainfall like it’s a government secret?"
Bamidele pulled out his chair again.
"Three years ago, during the floods, I got involved in something I shouldn’t have."
"What?" Kade asked.
"A repair job."
Tobi blinked.
"Of course."
"A man brought me a damaged power unit. Expensive equipment. Strange wiring. I knew it wasn’t ordinary, but the payment was good."
Bamidele rubbed his hands together.
"Two days later, someone came looking for the unit. They weren’t interested in whether I’d repaired it."
"What did they want?"
"To know who had touched it."
Kade felt his stomach tighten.
"What happened?"
"I ran."
Bamidele gave a humourless smile.
"Turns out being a Spark cultivator doesn’t make you particularly impressive when the people chasing you are stronger."
"Where did you hide?"
"A small clinic. The woman who answered your call arranged it."
Kade leaned forward.
"Who is she?"
"Someone who helped me when she didn’t have to."
"Does she belong to one of those groups you mentioned?"
"I never said she belonged to anything."
"You said some people could hide from the Seven Houses."
"And that is nearly everything I know about them."
Bamidele’s voice sharpened.
"Listen carefully, Kade. I’m not a secret master pretending to repair phones. I don’t have answers to every supernatural mystery in Lagos."
Kade looked away.
Bamidele sighed.
"I know you’re frightened. But asking me questions I can’t answer won’t change that."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Kade nodded.
"You’re right."
The clinic occupied the ground floor of a faded building behind a pharmacy.
There was no sign outside.
Only a narrow blue door and a bell that didn’t work.
Bamidele knocked twice.
Waited.
Then knocked once more.
An elderly woman opened the door.
She wore reading glasses and a pale-green uniform.
"Bamidele."
"Afternoon, Mama Efe."
Her eyes moved to Kade.
Then his ankle.
"Inside."
Tobi looked impressed.
"That was efficient."
"Young man," she said, "you can admire my efficiency after you help your friend through the door."
The clinic contained two examination beds, a cabinet of supplies, and a refrigerator humming beside the wall.
Mama Efe examined Kade’s ankle.
He hissed when she touched the swelling.
"Pain here?"
"Yes."
"Here?"
"Very yes."
She gave him a disapproving look.
"That is not a medical description."
"It’s the most accurate one I have."
She examined his shoulder next.
Then cleaned the reopened cut. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
"You need an X-ray," she said. "I can’t rule out a fracture or a more serious ligament injury here."
Kade looked at Bamidele.
"Is there somewhere safe to get one?"
"We’ll arrange it," Mama Efe said. "For now, no walking unless necessary. And stop pretending pain is a personality trait."
Tobi smiled.
"I like her."
"Then you can pay the consultation fee," Kade replied.
"I liked her briefly."
Mama Efe wrapped the ankle, provided support, and made Kade elevate his leg.
For the first time since Adunni disappeared, he had nowhere immediate to run.
The silence felt unnatural.
Later, Tobi fell asleep in a plastic chair.
Bamidele had gone to make arrangements for Kade’s imaging.
Mama Efe sat behind a desk, checking a ledger.
Kade stared at the ceiling.
His mother had vanished less than two days ago.
He’d fought a monster.
Discovered a hidden spiritual world.
Been hunted through Lagos.
And learned that something inside him wanted to consume living energy.
Yet none of it had brought him closer to finding her.
He reached into his pocket.
Adunni’s phone.
Still locked.
He turned it over.
The screen lit briefly, displaying the same unfamiliar passcode prompt.
He remembered the notification.
Are you certain he hasn’t noticed?
Who had sent it?
What wasn’t he supposed to notice?
He placed the phone beside him.
Mama Efe looked up.
"Your mother?"
Kade stiffened.
"What?"
"You’ve been staring at that phone like you’re waiting for it to explain something."
He hesitated.
"It’s hers."
"Is she ill?"
"Missing."
Mama Efe’s expression softened.
"I’m sorry."
Kade looked down.
"I keep thinking about the last thing I said to her."
"What was it?"
He swallowed.
"I complained about breakfast."
Mama Efe waited.
"She’d made pap. I wanted bread."
"And?"
"She told me bread wasn’t going to fall from heaven just because I was unhappy."
Despite herself, Mama Efe smiled.
Kade stared at the phone.
"I didn’t even thank her."
The words sounded small.
Pathetic, almost.
After everything that had happened, that was what bothered him.
Not the monster.
Not the shrine.
Breakfast.
Mama Efe closed her ledger.
"When someone disappears, the mind searches for the last ordinary thing. Something it can change."
Kade said nothing.
"But you can’t go backward and improve a conversation."
She stood.
"You can only decide what you’ll do when you see her again."
When.
Not if.
Kade held on to that word.
A few minutes later, Adunni’s phone vibrated.
Kade sat upright.
The screen remained locked.
A notification appeared.
No sender name.
No number.
Just a message.
YOU WENT TO THE WATERWORKS.
Kade’s mouth went dry.
A second notification followed.
THAT WAS NOT WHERE SHE WANTED YOU TO GO.
He stared at the screen.
Then a third message arrived.
ASK YOUR FRIEND WHAT SHE GAVE HIM.
Kade slowly turned toward Tobi.
His friend was still asleep.
For the first time that afternoon, the room felt cold.