CHAPTER XXXIX
The room went silent.
NUMA leaned back from the screen, face pale.
Khalid cursed under his breath.
Fatima stood, lips parted in disbelief.
Elara didn't say a word.
The name blinked back at her from the decrypted file like a prophecy:
Aderonke Bello
Age: 15
Enrolled in private finishing school abroad
Status: "Groomed for legacy"
Legacy.
That was the word the Council used when they wanted to polish their monsters.
"She's just a child," Khalid whispered.
NUMA said nothing.
Fatima spoke first. "She's his child."
Elara stared at the screen.
"She's our blood."
The drive revealed more:
Training schedules.
Psychological reports.
Notes on behavior control, suggestion programming.
Even a video of her being praised by a tutor for "emotional discipline" and "strategic empathy."
She looked like a shadow Elara didn't know how to touch.
Dark eyes.
Perfect posture.
And beneath it all — stillness.
Too much stillness for a 15-year-old.
"She doesn't know," Elara finally said.
"She's not in it yet."
NUMA shut the laptop. "Then you better decide what she'll become."
That night, Elara didn't sleep.
She sat at the edge of the rooftop, watching Lagos blink and breathe beneath her.
Fatima joined her just before dawn.
"She's innocent," Elara said.
Fatima nodded.
"So was Amara."
Elara turned to her mother.
"Would you have saved me… if it meant risking your revolution?"
Fatima answered without pause.
"I would've burned the revolution down to save you."
The next day, Elara made a decision.
Not to destroy Aderonke.
But to find her first.
She left with Khalid and NUMA.
A flight to Vienna.
Then a private train to a village in Switzerland.
That's where the school was. Hidden. Elite. Untouchable.
The kind of place you paid for silence more than education.
They posed as a diplomatic tech team — inspecting security vulnerabilities.
NUMA handled the entry codes.
Khalid faked the paperwork.
Elara wore a black coat and silence.
The guards didn't look twice.
Inside, everything was white marble and piano music.
Too clean.
Too unreal.
They found her in the garden, reading.
Alone.
Aderonke looked up and blinked once — eyes sharp, but unafraid.
"You're her," she said.
Elara froze.
"Who?"
"The one they whisper about when they think I'm asleep."
Elara sat beside her on the stone bench.
"You know who I am?"
"You're the reason the cameras stopped watching me this month," Aderonke said. "The reason my father doesn't call anymore."
Khalid raised an eyebrow.
"She's aware," he muttered.
NUMA remained still.
But Elara studied her.
"Do you hate him?"
"I don't know what to feel," Aderonke replied. "But I know what I dream."
"What?"
"Fire. Screaming. A name I don't remember but always wake up whispering."
"…Amara?"
Aderonke nodded.
She remembered.
Not everything.
But enough.
A visit to Lagos when she was six.
A girl with a broken smile who gave her a red marble and whispered, "Don't forget your real family."
Elara took a deep breath.
"You have a choice."
Aderonke looked at her.
"Do I?"
Elara didn't answer.
She reached into her coat and placed a small recorder in Aderonke's hand.
"This is your voice. Use it how you want. Speak truth, or stay silent. Either way, it's your power now."
They didn't wait.
They left the school in shadows.
Aderonke didn't follow.
But she watched.
And Elara knew…
That girl would rise.
Not as a weapon.
Not as an heir.
But as her own flame.
Back in Lagos, chaos brewed.
Three more resignations.
One trial scheduled.
And a private militia tied to the Council officially disbanded.
But not everyone was done fighting.
A threat arrived at the hideout.
Scrawled in blood on the gate:
"ONE DAUGHTER FALLS. ANOTHER RISES.
YOU CHOSE THE WRONG ONE."
NUMA activated full lockdown.
Fatima gathered the surviving witnesses.
Khalid sharpened the new plan.
And Elara?
She lit a candle at Amara's photo.
Then whispered:
"If they want daughters…"
"They'll see what happens when we all rise together."