The first thing Kade learned about old addresses was that Lagos had a complicated relationship with them.
The second was that Tobi’s family had moved more often than he remembered.
"Three times," Tobi said.
Kade looked up from his notebook.
"Three?"
"Before secondary school."
"You told me twice."
"I forgot the first one."
"How do you forget an entire house?"
"I was six."
"Fair."
They sat in Mama Efe’s clinic, surrounded by empty food containers and the smell of disinfectant.
Kade’s ankle was improving, but he still needed support to move around.
Mama Efe had made it clear that improvement wasn’t permission to start running through Lagos again.
Tobi was scrolling through old family photographs.
"Here’s the first place," he said.
Kade leaned closer.
A small bungalow stood behind a rusted gate.
"Where was that?"
"Agege. Somewhere near Pen Cinema."
"And the second?"
"Ogba."
"The third?"
"Our current house."
Kade tapped his pen against the notebook.
"Which one did Mr Akin ask about?"
Tobi frowned.
"Auntie Ronke didn’t say."
"Then we ask."
Tobi dialled his mother.
Mrs Balogun answered with a warning.
"If you’re calling to tell me you’ve injured yourself too, don’t."
"I’m fine, Mum."
"Good. Because I have enough problems."
Kade leaned toward the phone.
"Good morning, ma."
"Kade, how is your leg?"
"Better, ma."
"Are you eating?"
"Yes, ma."
"Proper food?"
Tobi rolled his eyes.
"Mum, please."
"Don’t ’Mum, please’ me."
Kade smiled.
Then Tobi asked about Mr Akin’s earlier visit.
Mrs Balogun went quiet.
"It was years ago," she said.
"Which house?"
"The one in Ogba."
Kade wrote it down.
"Do you remember exactly what he asked?"
"He said he was looking for Mrs Adeyemi."
"Did he give a reason?"
"No."
"Did he say she lived there?"
Mrs Balogun hesitated.
"Not exactly."
Kade leaned forward.
"What did he say?"
"He asked whether she still received letters at that address."
Kade stopped writing.
"Letters?"
"Yes."
"Did she?"
"No. Not that I knew."
Tobi frowned.
"Then why would he ask?"
"I don’t know."
Mrs Balogun sighed.
"Your mother used to visit us often, Kade. Perhaps someone confused the houses."
That was possible.
But Kade remembered something.
Adunni had occasionally asked him to collect letters from Tobi’s house.
He’d never questioned it.
Back then, he assumed she was helping Mrs Balogun with errands.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
"Ma," he asked carefully, "did my mother ever receive mail at your house?"
A pause.
"Once or twice."
Kade’s pulse quickened.
"From whom?"
"I never opened it."
"What did the envelopes look like?"
"Ordinary brown envelopes. No return address that I remember."
Kade wrote quickly.
"Do you still have any?"
"No. She collected them."
Tobi looked at him.
Kade nodded slowly.
At last, something tangible.
Not proof of a conspiracy.
Not proof of supernatural activity.
But a detail that could be checked.
His mother had used another household to receive correspondence.
And years later, someone had come asking about it.
After the call, Kade stared at his notes.
"Why didn’t she use our address?" Tobi asked.
"I don’t know."
"Maybe she didn’t want someone knowing where we lived."
"Maybe."
"Or maybe the letters were private."
"Also possible."
Tobi sighed.
"You’ve ruined speculation for me."
Kade smiled faintly.
"Good."
He wrote:
CONFIRMED: Adunni occasionally received mail at the Baloguns’ former Ogba address.
Then:
UNKNOWN: Sender, contents, and reason for using that address.
Tobi leaned back.
"Can we visit the old house?"
Kade glanced at his ankle.
"Not today."
"That’s becoming your favourite sentence." You are reading on g.com, the official source.
"Blame the second-floor window."
"I do. Frequently."
Bamidele arrived shortly before noon.
He listened as Kade explained the letters.
Then asked a question neither boy had considered.
"Does the old house still exist?"
Tobi blinked.
"Of course."
"Have you checked?"
"No."
"Then check."
Tobi opened a map application.
He searched the street.
Nothing useful appeared.
He tried the old address.
Still nothing.
"Maybe the street name changed," he said.
Bamidele nodded.
"That happens."
Tobi searched again.
This time, he found a nearby road.
But the house number didn’t appear.
Kade frowned.
"Could the address have been wrong?"
"Or outdated," Bamidele replied.
"Or demolished," Tobi added.
Kade wrote all three possibilities down.
They would need to verify the location through someone who remembered it.
Preferably without drawing attention.
At two in the afternoon, Auntie Ronke called.
Tobi answered.
"Auntie."
"I spoke with your mother."
"About the house?"
"Yes."
"Does she remember the landlord?"
"She does."
Kade sat straighter.
"Can we contact him?"
Auntie Ronke hesitated.
"That’s the problem."
"What problem?"
"The landlord died years ago."
Tobi sighed.
"Of course he did."
"Don’t be disrespectful."
"Sorry, Auntie."
She continued.
"His son inherited the property."
"Do you have his number?"
"No."
"Do you know his name?"
"Kunle."
Kade wrote it down.
"Kunle what?"
"That’s all I remember."
Tobi rubbed his forehead.
"Auntie, that describes half of Lagos."
"Then start with the half you know."
The call ended.
Kade stared at Tobi.
Tobi stared back.
"Your family is terrifying."
"You’ve met my mother."
"Fair."
By evening, Kade had made little progress.
The old address remained uncertain.
The landlord was dead.
The son had a common first name.
And nobody remembered the envelopes clearly enough to describe them.
He closed his notebook.
Tobi looked up.
"Giving up?"
"Resting."
"That’s new."
"Temporary condition."
Kade leaned back.
His ankle throbbed faintly.
The System remained silent.
No new information.
No convenient revelation.
Just nineteen units of spiritual energy and a body that needed time to heal.
He wondered whether ordinary investigations were supposed to feel this frustrating.
Probably.
Most mysteries didn’t come with floating interfaces.
That night, Kade called the aunt in Ibadan.
She answered after several rings.
"Kade?"
"Aunty Sade."
"Ah! How are you?"
"I’m fine."
"Your mother hasn’t called me in months."
Kade swallowed.
"That’s why I’m calling."
He explained that Adunni was missing.
His aunt fell silent.
Then she began asking questions.
When had he last seen her?
Had he checked hospitals?
Had he contacted the police?
Kade answered as best he could.
Then he asked about the letters.
"Did my mother ever use another address for mail?"
Aunty Sade hesitated.
"Why?"
"She used to receive envelopes at Tobi’s old house."
"Ah."
Kade sat upright.
"You know about that?"
"I remember something."
"What?" This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
"Years ago, your mother asked whether she could use my address too."
Kade’s heart beat faster.
"Did she?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I told her I was moving."
"Did she say who the letters were from?"
"No."
Kade closed his eyes.
Another lead.
Another unanswered question.
Then his aunt added, "But she did say something strange."
"What?"
"She said some letters were safer when they didn’t know where to find the person receiving them."
Kade went still.
"Are you sure?"
"Those were her words, or close to them."
He looked toward Adunni’s photograph.
"What did you think she meant?"
"I thought she was having trouble with someone."
"Did you ask?"
"Of course."
"What did she say?"
"That I shouldn’t worry."
Kade almost laughed.
That sounded exactly like his mother.
Always carrying problems quietly.
Always telling everyone else not to worry.
After the call, Kade sat in silence.
Tobi watched him.
"Another address?"
Kade nodded.
"She asked to use my aunt’s."
"Did she?"
"No."
Tobi frowned.
"So the letters mattered."
"Maybe."
"You’re doing it again."
"What?"
"Refusing to admit something obvious."
Kade looked at him.
Tobi leaned forward.
"Your mum was receiving mail somewhere other than home. She asked your aunt for another address. Someone later came looking for those letters."
Kade considered the sequence.
"That suggests she wanted to keep some correspondence separate from our house."
"Exactly."
"But we still don’t know why."
Tobi nodded.
"Fine. I’ll give you that."
Kade smiled faintly.
"Generous."
The next morning, Femi sent a message.
Found something else in the old programme.
Kade sat upright.
What?
There’s an address written inside the back cover. Didn’t notice it before.
A photograph followed.
The handwriting was faint.
But readable.
NO. 14, ADEKUNLE CLOSE, OGBA.
Kade stared.
"Tobi."
His friend looked up.
"What?"
"What’s the address of your old house?"
Tobi frowned.
"Number fourteen, Adekunle Close."
Silence.
Then Tobi stood.
"That’s impossible."
Kade looked at the photograph again.
The address was written inside a graduation programme.
The same programme that contained the note about him.
And it matched the Baloguns’ former house.
"Why would Femi have our old address?" Tobi whispered.
Kade didn’t answer.
Because he had no idea.
He called Femi immediately.
His friend answered.
"Chairman!"
"Femi, where did you get that programme?"
"I told you. Old carton."
"Was it yours?"
A pause.
"Actually, no."
Kade’s grip tightened.
"Whose was it?"
Femi hesitated.
"I thought it belonged to my cousin."
"Which cousin?"
"The one who helped me pack my school things years ago."
Kade closed his eyes.
"Femi. What’s his name?"
"Kunle."
Kade went still.
"Kunle what?"
"Kunle Adebisi."
Tobi stared at him.
Kade swallowed.
"Femi, does your cousin’s family own property in Ogba?"
A long pause.
Then Femi replied.
"Yes."
Kade felt the pieces shift.
"Number fourteen, Adekunle Close?"
"How did you know?"
Kade looked at Tobi.
Then at the handwritten address.
Then at the photograph of his mother.
For the first time, two separate trails had led to the same ordinary house.
And the connection had come through someone they’d known for years.
"Femi," Kade said quietly, "we need to speak with your cousin."