The dead man’s signature looked ordinary.
That was what troubled Kade.
No strange symbols.
No threatening words.
Just a name written in blue ink beneath a paragraph of legal language.
Samuel Adebisi.
Kunle’s father.
A man who had been dead for nearly four years.
And according to the document Kunle had photographed, Samuel Adebisi had agreed to hold certain correspondence on behalf of an organization called the Akinwale Family Trust.
Kade read the photograph again.
Then a third time.
Tobi leaned over his shoulder.
"Does it say Seven Houses anywhere?"
"No."
"Then how do we know the Trust belongs to one?"
"We don’t."
Tobi nodded.
"Excellent. Another mystery. We should start charging admission."
Kade didn’t smile.
The document was dated six years earlier.
The same year as the envelope bearing the warning about a broken agreement.
That was worth investigating.
But the photograph showed only one page.
There might be more.
And a signature in a photograph wasn’t proof of authenticity.
"Call Kunle," Kade said.
Kunle answered after the fourth ring.
"Hello?"
"Sir, it’s Kade."
"I know."
"You sent the document?"
"Yes."
"Did the man leave it with you?"
"No. He showed it to me. I asked to photograph the page."
"Did you see the original?"
"Something that looked like an original."
Kade wrote that down.
"Was there a letterhead?"
"Akinwale Family Trust."
"Any address?"
"Not on the page I photographed."
"Did he show identification?"
"A card with his name."
"What name?"
"Mr Bello."
Kade stopped writing.
"Just Bello?"
"Chinedu Bello."
"Did he explain what the Trust does?"
"He said it manages private family records."
"Which family?"
"He wouldn’t say."
Tobi shook his head.
Kade continued.
"Did he ask for the folder?"
"Yes."
"Did you give it to him?"
"No."
Kade exhaled.
"Thank you."
"Don’t thank me yet."
Kunle sounded tired.
"He said my father had signed an agreement requiring the records to be returned upon request."
"Did you read that agreement?"
"Only the page he showed me."
"Then you don’t know whether that’s true."
"Exactly."
For the first time, Kade felt a measure of respect for the man.
Kunle wasn’t easily intimidated.
Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he was safe.
"Please don’t meet him alone again," Kade said.
Kunle gave a humourless laugh.
"Young man, I wasn’t planning to."
Bamidele arrived before noon.
Kade showed him the photograph.
The repairman studied it.
"Akinwale," he murmured.
Kade looked up.
"You recognize the name?"
"It’s a common enough surname."
"That’s not what I asked."
Bamidele glanced at him.
"I’ve heard the name associated with cultivators."
"One of the Seven Houses?"
"Possibly."
Kade waited.
Bamidele sighed.
"You’re looking at me as though I have a secret library hidden under my shop."
"Do you?"
"No."
"Disappointing."
"The Seven Houses aren’t ordinary families," Bamidele continued. "Their influence extends through businesses, properties, and people who may not even know whom they’re serving."
"How many people belong to them?"
"I couldn’t tell you."
"Are they all cultivators?"
"No."
Kade frowned.
"Then what makes them powerful?"
"Money. Connections. Knowledge. Strong cultivators. The same things that make powerful people dangerous everywhere."
Tobi nodded solemnly.
"So basically Lagos landlords with spiritual energy."
Bamidele stared at him.
"That is a terrible comparison."
"But not entirely wrong."
"Unfortunately."
Kade looked back at the document.
"Could a House own correspondence?"
"An organization can claim ownership of records. Whether that claim is legitimate is another matter."
"And if Kunle refuses?"
"That depends on who is asking."
The answer offered little comfort.
Power didn’t always announce itself with glowing weapons.
Sometimes it arrived carrying paperwork.
Mama Efe entered with fresh bandages.
"Enough talking. Let me see that ankle."
Kade reluctantly lowered his foot.
The swelling had improved.
Not disappeared.
Improved.
Mama Efe examined it carefully.
"Better."
Kade brightened.
"So I can go out?"
"No."
His expression collapsed.
Tobi laughed.
Mama Efe adjusted the support.
"You can begin putting a little more weight on it, provided the pain allows. No running. No jumping. No chasing mysterious men."
"That last one seems unnecessarily specific."
"I know my patients."
She helped him stand.
Kade placed his walking aid beside him.
Slowly, he shifted some weight onto the injured foot.
Pain travelled up his ankle.
He stopped.
"That’s enough," Mama Efe said.
He sat again.
His body was recovering.
But nowhere near quickly enough for the trouble gathering around him.
That afternoon, Kade asked Bamidele for another lesson.
The repairman raised an eyebrow.
"Now?"
"While I’m sitting."
"What do you want to learn?"
"How to recognize when a cultivator is using a technique."
Bamidele considered him.
Then picked up a metal spoon.
"Watch."
A faint amber glow appeared around his fingers.
Kade activated NIGHT SIGHT.
The spiritual energy became clearer.
Bamidele touched the spoon.
Ase moved into the metal.
Then stopped.
"Tell me what you saw."
"Energy moved from your hand into the spoon."
"Good."
"Then the flow stopped."
"Good."
"Does that mean the effect ended?"
Bamidele smiled.
"No."
He placed the spoon on the table.
"Touch it."
Kade reached forward.
The metal was warm.
Not hot enough to burn.
But warmer than it should have been.
"The energy remains?"
"Some of it. Briefly."
Kade opened ANALYZE.
[TARGET: RESIDUAL SPIRITUAL ENERGY]
[ENERGY TYPE: ASE]
[CURRENT STATE: DISSIPATING]
[ESTIMATED STABILITY: LOW]
Kade watched the faint glow weaken.
Interesting.
A cultivator could leave energy behind after breaking contact.
That meant escaping the person didn’t always mean escaping the technique.
He remembered the filament that had struck his sleeve.
The one he’d torn away and discarded.
He had been right to remove it.
"Can residual energy be used to track someone?" he asked.
"Some techniques can leave traces that others recognize."
"Can every cultivator do that?"
"No."
"Can you?"
"Not reliably."
Kade nodded.
He wrote down the lesson.
A technique may remain active after the user leaves. Confirm before assuming safety.
Tobi peered at the notebook.
"At this rate, you’re going to defeat somebody with revision notes."
Kade smiled.
"Better than your strategy."
"My strategy is survival."
"Your strategy is running."
"Exactly. Very successful so far."
The call came shortly after sunset.
Kunle again.
But this time, his voice was different.
"Mr Adeyemi?"
Kade sat upright.
"Yes?"
"I need to ask you something."
"Go ahead."
"Did your mother ever mention a man named Akin?"
Kade froze.
Tobi looked up immediately.
"Why?"
Kunle hesitated.
"Because I found another document."
Kade’s heartbeat quickened.
"What document?"
"A receipt."
"For what?"
"Storage fees."
Kade frowned.
"Your father charged my mother for keeping letters?"
"Then who?"
Kunle took a breath.
"Someone called Akin."
Kade gripped the phone.
"Are you certain?"
"That’s the name written here."
"Any first name?"
"No."
"Date?"
Kunle read it aloud.
The receipt was dated several months before Kade’s graduation.
During the period Mr Akin had been teaching at their school.
Kade stared at Tobi.
Another possible connection.
But still only a name.
Akin wasn’t uncommon.
"Does the receipt say what was stored?"
"No."
"Anything else?"
"There’s a reference number."
Kade reached for his pen.
"Read it."
Kunle did.
17 / 04 / 06 — C.
The pen stopped moving.
Kade stared at the page.
The same code.
The exact sequence written beneath his name in the old graduation programme.
For a moment, the clinic seemed unnaturally quiet.
Tobi whispered, "Kade?"
Kade didn’t answer.
He was looking at two separate pieces of evidence.
One recovered from an old school programme.
The other from his friend’s former landlord.
Both carried the same reference number.
That didn’t explain what the code meant.
But it made coincidence considerably harder to accept.
"Kunle," Kade said carefully, "does the receipt identify who collected the stored item?"
Paper rustled.
"There’s a signature."
"Whose?"
"I can’t read it clearly."
"Can you photograph it?"
"Yes."
A few seconds later, the image arrived.
Kade enlarged it.
The signature was hurried.
Only the first letter was distinct.
An A.
The rest dissolved into a dark stroke.
Tobi leaned closer.
"Could be Akin."
"Could be anyone whose name begins with A."
Kade lowered the phone.
He refused to turn uncertainty into certainty simply because the answer was tempting.
"Keep the receipt safe," he told Kunle.
"I will."
"And the envelope?"
"Still sealed."
"Good."
Kunle hesitated.
"There’s something I haven’t told you."
Kade closed his eyes.
"Go ahead."
"When Mr Bello came, he didn’t ask for every record."
Kade opened his eyes.
"What did he ask for?"
"One particular file."
"Which file?"
"The one with that reference number."
Kade felt a cold pressure settle in his chest.
"Did he know what was inside?"
"I don’t know."
"Did he say why he wanted it?"
"No."
"Then why didn’t you mention this earlier?"
"Because I didn’t realize it mattered until I found the receipt."
Kade understood.
The stranger had arrived looking for a specific reference.
Not merely Adunni’s correspondence.
Not every old record.
17 / 04 / 06 — C.
Someone knew exactly what they wanted.
After the call, Kade sat quietly.
Tobi eventually broke the silence.
"So what now?"
Kade looked at his notebook.
The Seven Houses.
Mr Akin.
The old landlord.
His mother’s letters.
The same code appearing in two places.
He had spent days chasing fragments without knowing which belonged together.
Now at least one connection had become concrete.
But there was a problem.
The people seeking those records possessed money, influence, and possibly cultivators capable of killing him.
Kade possessed an injured ankle, nineteen units of spiritual energy, and a friend who considered running a martial art.
He needed a better plan.
"Bamidele," he said.
The repairman looked up.
"Yes?"
"Yesterday you showed me how Ase moves."
"I did."
"Tomorrow, I want to learn how to recognize a trap."
Bamidele studied him.
"Why?"
Kade looked toward the phone.
"Because whoever wants that file knows where it is."
He paused.
"And unlike us, they may already know what it contains."