For several seconds, Kade forgot how to speak.
His mother.
Of course.
Some part of him had expected the answer, but hearing Mrs Adebayo say it aloud made the possibility suddenly real.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
"I handled the complaint myself."
Kade gripped the edge of the examination bed.
"What exactly did she report?"
"That Mr Akin had been asking inappropriate questions about you."
"What kind of questions?"
Mrs Adebayo hesitated.
"Your medical history. Your childhood illnesses. Whether you’d ever suffered unexplained fainting spells."
Kade frowned.
"I never had fainting spells."
"Your mother said the same thing."
Tobi leaned closer to the phone.
"Did he ask about other students?"
"Yes. But the questions about Kade were unusually specific."
A chill moved through Kade.
Years ago, someone had been interested in his body.
Now cultivators were hunting him because his body lacked something everyone else’s possessed.
The connection was tempting.
Too tempting.
He forced himself to ask the next question carefully.
"Did Mr Akin explain why he wanted that information?"
"He claimed he was helping identify students who might require additional academic support."
Tobi stared at the phone.
"By asking about childhood illnesses?"
"That was precisely my concern," Mrs Adebayo replied.
Kade swallowed.
"What happened after my mother complained?"
"We questioned him. He became defensive. Shortly afterward, he stopped reporting for work."
"Was he dismissed?"
"I can’t confirm that. I remember the sequence, not every administrative decision."
Kade nodded.
"Did my mother ever speak to him directly?"
"Not in my presence."
Another possible connection remained unproven.
He wrote it down.
Mrs Adebayo agreed to meet them in two days, provided Mrs Oladipo attended.
She also promised to ask the school whether any old administrative correspondence could be reviewed through the proper channels.
Before ending the call, she addressed Kade directly.
"Your mother was very protective of you."
"I know."
"No," she said gently. "I don’t think you understand what I mean."
Kade went still.
"Then tell me."
"She wasn’t angry because a teacher had asked about your grades. She was angry because someone had tried to obtain personal information without her permission."
"Did she seem frightened?"
"Not frightened."
A pause.
"Determined."
The call ended.
Kade remained motionless.
Tobi watched him.
"What are you thinking?"
"That my mother was fighting battles I didn’t know existed."
"Maybe."
Kade looked at him.
"Maybe?"
"We don’t know what Mr Akin wanted."
Kade exhaled.
"Right."
Tobi pointed toward the notebook.
"Your own rules."
Kade managed a faint smile.
"My rules are becoming annoying."
"Welcome to my life."
By afternoon, Kade had arranged to begin a missing-person report.
The police officer he spoke with wanted basic details.
Adunni’s age.
Her description.
When she was last seen.
What clothing she might have been wearing.
Whether she had any known medical condition.
Kade answered what he could.
Then came the question that hurt most.
"Have you contacted her relatives?"
He stared at the phone.
There weren’t many.
An aunt in Ibadan.
A cousin who occasionally sent Christmas messages.
People Adunni had gradually stopped discussing.
"I’ll contact them," Kade said.
The officer explained what information and identification he should bring when he came in person.
After the call, Kade lowered his head.
Tobi sat beside him.
"You okay?"
"No."
"Fair."
Kade rubbed his face.
"I know she disappeared. I know something supernatural happened in our house. But I can’t tell the police any of that without sounding insane."
"You can tell them the ordinary facts."
"Like what?"
"That she vanished. That there was blood. That her phone was left behind."
Kade looked up.
The blood.
"Someone needs to examine the house," he said.
Tobi nodded.
"And we shouldn’t disturb anything else."
Kade opened his notebook.
Another task.
Another ordinary step.
He was beginning to understand how many he’d neglected.
That evening, Bamidele returned with groceries.
Kade told him about the complaint.
The repairman listened without interrupting.
When Kade finished, Bamidele rubbed his chin.
"Medical questions?"
"Yes."
"About childhood illnesses?"
"Yes."
Bamidele looked thoughtful.
"Could that be connected to my lack of an Ase Core?" Kade asked.
"Possibly."
"How?"
"I don’t know."
Kade sighed.
Bamidele leaned forward.
"Listen. Most cultivators discover their abilities through an awakening or assessment. But that doesn’t mean every person asking medical questions is secretly searching for cultivators."
"I know."
"Good."
Bamidele set the groceries down.
"Still, someone asking about you specifically deserves attention."
Kade nodded.
"Especially if he’s the same man who visited Tobi’s house."
"Yes."
Tobi raised a finger.
"And if he hasn’t aged in years?"
Bamidele looked at him.
"Your mother recognized a face from an old photograph. That’s worth investigating. It isn’t proof the man hasn’t aged."
Tobi sighed.
"Nobody lets me enjoy a mystery."
"Because you’re trying to turn every clue into a conclusion."
"That sounds like Kade’s job."
"Exactly."
Later, when the clinic had quieted, Kade examined the System again.
[HOST STATUS]
[ASE CORE: ABSENT]
[SPIRITUAL ENERGY: 19 UNITS]
[AVAILABLE FUNCTIONS: DEVOUR, ANALYZE]
[PASSIVE TRAIT: NIGHT SIGHT]
He stared at the information.
Then asked a question he’d been avoiding.
"Can ANALYZE tell me why I was born without an Ase Core?"
[INSUFFICIENT BIOLOGICAL AND SPIRITUAL REFERENCE DATA.]
"Can it tell me whether I ever had one?"
[HISTORICAL HOST DEVELOPMENT DATA UNAVAILABLE.]
Kade frowned.
"So you don’t know."
[CORRECT.]
The answer was almost refreshing.
At least the System admitted ignorance.
He dismissed the interface.
His mother had raised him believing he was ordinary.
Perhaps she’d believed it too.
Perhaps she hadn’t.
There was no evidence yet.
He looked toward her photograph.
"Whatever you were trying to protect me from," he whispered, "I wish you’d told me."
The photograph offered no answer.
The next morning brought an unexpected visitor.
Not a cultivator.
Not a hunter.
A woman carrying a small handbag and wearing a faded Ankara dress.
She introduced herself as Mrs Balogun’s younger sister.
"Auntie Ronke," Tobi exclaimed.
She folded her arms.
"So this is where you’ve been hiding."
Tobi stood immediately.
"Auntie—"
"Your mother has been worried sick."
"I know."
"And you couldn’t come home?"
"It’s complicated."
"Everything is complicated when young men don’t want to explain themselves."
Kade tried to sit straighter.
"Good morning, ma."
Auntie Ronke looked at his bandaged ankle.
Her expression softened slightly.
"Ah. You’re injured."
"Yes, ma."
"Have you eaten?"
Tobi groaned.
"Auntie, please."
She ignored him.
"Your mother sent food."
She opened her handbag and produced a tightly wrapped container.
Tobi stared.
"How did that fit inside?"
"Mind your business."
Kade laughed.
For a few minutes, the clinic felt almost normal.
Then Auntie Ronke placed a second item on the table.
A photograph.
A recent photograph taken outside Mrs Balogun’s house.
It showed the front gate.
The doorstep.
And the white card bearing the split-eye symbol.
Kade frowned.
"We already have a picture of that."
"I know," Auntie Ronke replied.
"Then why bring this?"
"Because your friend’s mother noticed something after she left."
Kade leaned forward.
"What?"
Auntie Ronke pointed to the edge of the photograph.
Near the gatepost was a small mark.
Three short scratches.
Almost invisible.
"She says those weren’t there before."
Kade studied them.
"Could be ordinary damage."
"Could be," Auntie Ronke agreed.
"Did anyone see who made them?"
"No."
Tobi frowned.
"Then why does Mum think they’re important?"
Auntie Ronke reached into her handbag again.
This time, she produced an old photograph.
It showed Tobi as a child standing beside their gate.
The same gatepost appeared behind him.
And on the concrete, faint but visible, were three short scratches.
Kade stared.
"They were already there."
Auntie Ronke nodded.
"Your mother found this while looking through old pictures."
Tobi leaned closer.
"So the marks aren’t new."
"Exactly."
Kade looked at the two photographs.
Someone had mistaken an old detail for a fresh threat.
It was a small correction.
But an important one.
He crossed the scratches off his list.
Auntie Ronke watched him.
"You’re writing everything down?"
"Trying to."
"Good. Because frightened people remember things badly."
Kade nodded.
He was beginning to understand that too.
Before leaving, Auntie Ronke asked to speak with Tobi privately.
They stepped into the corridor.
Kade couldn’t hear their conversation.
He didn’t try.
When Tobi returned, his expression was troubled.
"What happened?" Kade asked.
Tobi sat beside him.
"Auntie says Mum wants us to come home when it’s safe."
"Understandable."
"And she wants the envelope out of the house."
Kade nodded slowly.
"Also understandable."
Tobi hesitated.
"There’s something else."
Kade looked at him.
"What?"
"Auntie says Mum remembers Mr Akin visiting our house once before."
Kade felt his stomach tighten.
"When?"
"Years ago."
"Why?"
"She doesn’t know."
"Did she let him in?"
"No."
"Did he ask for you?"
Tobi shook his head.
"That’s the strange part."
Kade waited.
Tobi swallowed.
"He wasn’t asking for me."
"Then who?"
Tobi looked toward Adunni’s photograph.
"He asked whether your mother still lived at our old address."
Kade stared at him.
The clinic seemed suddenly too quiet.
Mr Akin had asked questions about Adunni at school.
He had apparently approached Tobi’s family years earlier.
And now someone resembling him had returned, looking for an envelope Adunni had left behind.
The connections were growing harder to dismiss.
But one question mattered more than the others.
"Why would he think my mother lived with your family?"
Tobi shook his head.
"I don’t know."
Kade looked down at his notebook.
Then slowly wrote another question.
WHAT DID MR AKIN BELIEVE ABOUT ADUNNI’S WHEREABOUTS?
He underlined it.
Once.
Twice.
Outside, the afternoon sun burned through the last of the morning clouds.
And somewhere in Lagos, the answers remained just beyond his reach.