No time

Chapter 39: No time

Emeka's face twitched, a series of micro-expressions flitting across his features too quickly to pin down. His jaw worked silently, as if chewing on words he couldn't quite swallow. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering animal musk from the recent chaos.

Finally, Emeka's shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. "Yeah," he murmured, barely above a whisper. His fingers curled slowly into a fist, the tendons in his hand standing out as he fought for composure. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the soft whisper of leaves and the distant call of a startled bird.

Emeka's gaze locked with Bayo's for a heartbeat, volumes passing unspoken between them. Bayo felt a familiar resentment, a subtle reminder of his pessimism at play. Then Emeka looked away, his features settling into a carefully neutral mask.

Mike cleared his throat, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet. "Well then," he said, nodding towards the vehicles. "Looks like you folks have places to be. We'll take care of things here."

Bayo blinked, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed the words. He glanced at Adeola, catching the slight widening of her eyes, then at Amina, noting the quick intake of breath. Their surprise mirrored his own, tinged with a wary sort of hope.

As they moved towards the vehicles, Bayo's steps were measured, his posture tense. The crunch of leaves and twigs under their feet seemed unnaturally loud. His eyes flicked from face to face, searching for some hidden catch, some trap about to spring. Beside him, Farid moved with an easier gait, his shoulders relaxed.

Farid leaned in close as they walked, his voice low. "Quite the day, eh?" he murmured, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "Never a dull moment with you around, Bayo." Despite his light words, Bayo could sense the underlying tension in Farid's voice, the barely concealed resentment simmering beneath the surface.

Bayo's lips twitched in a ghost of a smile, but his eyes remained watchful. "Let's just get out of here," he muttered, his Yoruba accent thickening with stress.

As they reached the edge of the clearing, Bayo paused, casting one last glance over his shoulder. The officers stood in quiet conversation, the wildlife team still frozen in place, and Emeka... Emeka stood alone, his face unreadable in the dappled forest light. Bayo felt a twinge of guilt, remembering the hope they had inadvertently given Emeka, only to have it crushed.

Bayo turned away, a slight furrow between his brows. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. The weight of Aroni's prophecy and the mark on his skin seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. "Come on," he said to the others, his voice low but firm. 

With that, they began their steps, but Bayo inadvertently stopped again. His eyes darted between the animals and the security personnel. Their intentions were too good to be true, and Bayo's inherent distrust flared up. He couldn't shake the feeling that Èsù's mischievous influence was at play, manipulating events in ways he couldn't fully comprehend.

Adeola's fingers tightened around Bayo's arm, a wordless plea for solidarity. Her touch was warm, grounding, reminding him of the complex web of relationships he now found himself entangled in. Not to be outdone, Amina mirrored the gesture, her chin lifting slightly. She was determined to carve her own place in this unfolding drama, acutely aware of Bayo's inexplicable allure despite his unassuming appearance.

Bayo stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the distance until a cacophony of animal sounds broke his reverie. Whispers seemed to drift on the wind, carrying messages he couldn't quite grasp but instinctively understood. With a barely perceptible nod to the watching creatures, he stepped forward, shoulders set with resolve.

"We should go," he murmured, his Yoruba accent thickening with tension. "There's work to be done."

—

As dawn broke on the seventh day, Bayo emerged from a red taxi in front of 79 Garden Street. The imposing brick facade of Harvard's Computing Laboratory loomed before him, a physical manifestation of the challenge that awaited. He paused, taking a deep breath, the weight of Dr. John's deadline pressing upon him. The crisp morning air carried the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of a scorching day ahead.

The security guard's eyes widened in recognition as Bayo approached. "Mr. Adebayo, I thought—" 

But Bayo was already past him, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. The guard half-rose from his chair, conflict evident on his face, before sinking back down with a resigned shake of his head.

Inside the office, a tense silence shattered as Dr. John leapt to his feet. "Adebayo!" he thundered, his face flushing. "Where in God's name have you been?"

Bayo flinched, the volume startling after days of cryptic whispers and forest sounds. He opened his mouth to respond, but Dr. John barreled on.

"Do you have any idea what's at stake here? The time we've wasted?" Dr. John's pragmatic nature warred with his disappointment, evident in the tightness around his eyes.

From his corner, Dr. Harold's lips curled into a sneer. "Well, well. Our prodigal genius returns," he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I do hope your little vacation was worth jeopardizing the entire project." Behind his cold eyes, a storm of emotions raged – hatred born from his troubled past, resentment at what he perceived as undeserved acclaim, and a calculating ambition that saw Bayo as both a threat and a potential stepping stone.

Bayo's fingers twitched, longing for the comforting presence of his companions. He squared his shoulders, meeting Dr. John's gaze. "I apologize for my absence," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I'm ready to begin."

Dr. John's expression softened marginally. He remembered the brilliance Bayo had shown, solving that impossible equation with barely a thought. "Very well," he said gruffly. "But understand this – we're out of second chances, nor do you have time for a comeback, Adebayo."

Bayo nodded, acutely aware of the hopes and doubts swirling around him. As he moved towards his workstation, he felt the weight of expectation settle on his shoulders – from Dr. John, from the watchful orishas, and from himself.

Ms. Anderson rose from her chair, the legs scraping against the floor. Her heels clicked as she approached, leaving a trail of heavy floral scent in her wake. Her eyes, rimmed with fatigue, scanned Bayo from head to toe. The scent of coffee clung to her, a testament to long nights and mounting pressure.

"So, you've decided to grace us with your presence," she said, her tone clipped. She glanced at Dr. John, a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—crossing her face before she masked it with indifference. Bayo could sense the underlying anxiety in her demeanor, the fear of failure that seemed to permeate the room.

The door creaked open, announcing Mrs. Christian's arrival. The gentle tinkling of her necklace preceded her as she glided across the room, her hand outstretched toward Bayo's distinctive hair. He jerked back instinctively, causing her to pause mid-motion.

"My, my," Mrs. Christian trilled, her voice cutting through the tension like a misplaced wind chime. "Bayo, dear, have you been off on some romantic adventure?" Her attempts at lightness fell flat in the charged atmosphere, serving only to highlight the gravity of the situation.

Dr. John's jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at his temple. He exhaled slowly, turning to face Bayo. "Why are you here, Adebayo?" The weariness in his voice was palpable. "You can't possibly think—" 

"Dr. John," Bayo interjected, his Yoruba accent thickening with emotion, "I know my absence can't be excused with mere words." He paused, considering his next statement carefully. The weight of his recent experiences in Eternaforest pressed on him, a secret burden he couldn't share. "But I still have a day left. That's all I ask."

Dr. Harold let out a derisive snort from his corner of the room. "Oh, splendid," he drawled, his eyes glinting with malice. "Our prodigy believes he can bend time to his will." He turned to Dr. John, his expression a mix of pity and contempt. "And you're willing to entertain this farce?"

Ms. Anderson retreated to her desk, her fingers drumming an agitated rhythm on its surface. "This is absurd," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Her hand came down on a stack of papers with a sharp slap, causing several heads to turn. She met Dr. John's gaze, her eyes conveying a silent plea tinged with fear.

Mrs. Christian, seemingly oblivious to the mounting tension, circled Bayo like a curious cat. Her laughter, meant to be light, fell flat in the charged atmosphere. "Oh, come now," she said, patting Bayo's shoulder. "Surely we can give the boy a chance?"

Bayo stood firm, his resolve apparent in the set of his shoulders. He looked around the room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. "I understand your doubts," he said, his voice low but steady. "But I'm here to complete what I started. Nothing more, nothing less."