The Forgotten Name

Nia stepped into the cold Lagos night, her mind still reeling from what had just happened. The memory of Zeke lingered, a whisper at the edge of her thoughts, but it wasn't enough. She needed more.

The address in her hand felt like a key, a fragile link to the past she had lost. Dr. Olatunde Ibekwe. Who was he? Why had the auctioneer sent her to him?

She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and hailed a taxi. As the car weaved through the city streets, her fingers traced the edge of the slip of paper. Something about the name tickled at her memory, but it remained just out of reach, like a word on the tip of her tongue.

The taxi pulled up in front of a quiet, aging building near the Lagos Marina. It was old but well-kept, its walls covered in creeping ivy, its windows dark.

Nia paid the driver and stepped out. A single lantern flickered above the entrance, casting long shadows across the pavement. She hesitated, her pulse quickening.

What if this was a trap?

She had no reason to trust the auctioneer or the woman in emerald. For all she knew, they had only led her deeper into danger. But something inside her whispered that this was the only path forward.

She knocked.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the sound of slow footsteps.

The door creaked open, revealing an older man with silver-threaded hair and piercing dark eyes. He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Nia tightened her grip on the paper. "I don't have a choice."

His eyes flickered to the address in her hand, and something in his face shifted, recognition, maybe even regret.

Without another word, he stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

The interior of the house was lined with books shelves stacked high with ancient tomes, scrolls, and dusty volumes. A heavy scent of old paper and herbal tea filled the air. The place felt like a library frozen in time.

He motioned for her to sit at a wooden desk. "Tell me who sent you."

"The auctioneer," Nia answered. "He said you might have answers."

Dr. Ibekwe exhaled slowly and sat across from her. "If they sent you to me, it means you've already begun to reclaim what was taken."

Nia nodded. "A single memory. A boy named Zeke."

Dr. Ibekwe's jaw tightened. He leaned back, his fingers lacing together.

"You don't remember everything yet," he said. "But you will."

She swallowed. "Who is he?"

The doctor hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "Not just a boy from your past. He was part of something much bigger. And so were you."

A chill ran through her. "What do you mean?"

Dr. Ibekwe sighed and rose to his feet. He walked to one of the shelves, pulling down an old, worn book. He flipped through its pages before setting it on the desk in front of her.

The book was filled with symbols and faded sketches—maps, strange diagrams, and names written in languages she didn't recognize.

Then, on one page, she saw it.

Her own name.

Her breath hitched. "What… what is this?"

Dr. Ibekwe's gaze was steady. "Proof that this is not the first time your memories have been stolen."

Her hands trembled as she touched the pages.

"You were part of something dangerous, Nia," he continued. "And someone wanted to make sure you never remembered it."

Her heart pounded. "Why?"

He shut the book. "Because if you do, they will come for you again."

A sharp knock at the door made them both freeze.

Dr. Ibekwe's eyes darkened. "It seems they already have."