Chapter Thirteen: Blood in the Bargain

The sun hung low, blood-orange against the Lagos skyline.

Time was running out.

In a fortified command room beneath Echelon Tower, Amaka sat at a digital console flanked by Simi, Kunle, and Obinna. Code streamed across three separate monitors. The atmosphere was electric—every breath taut, every second ticking like a countdown to ruin.

"Protocol Banshee is set," Simi confirmed, fingers flying. "It mirrors the override code Kenan thinks exists—except once he tries to activate it, it'll trigger a system loop that locks him inside the digital vault. He'll be frozen, exposed, and isolated."

Obinna stood behind Amaka, silent but unwavering. His hand rested gently on the back of her chair—just enough to say I'm here.

Amaka didn't look at him.

Her focus was steel.

She typed the final line of code, her voice low. "Prepare the transmission. Set the location."

Kunle tapped his tablet. "He wants the drop at the Ikoyi Lagoon footbridge. Neutral ground, minimal surveillance. No drones. No security detail."

"And no backup," Simi added.

Amaka exhaled slowly. "Then we do it his way. For now."

That evening, Amaka arrived at the bridge alone.

She wore a simple cream blouse and dark jeans. No jewelry. No bag. Just a flash drive in her right hand—the decoy.

She walked calmly across the bridge's narrow stretch, the quiet hum of water below lapping against the tension in her chest.

From the shadows emerged Kenan, dressed in black, hood up, expression carved from stormclouds. In his left hand: a phone screen showing Ifeoma—gagged, still alive, her eyes swollen from crying.

"You came," Kenan said with a smile. "Alone."

"You made it clear I had no choice."

He stepped closer.

They stood face to face.

Two weapons forged from opposite kinds of grief.

"You're not what I expected," he said. "I thought you'd be another spoiled product of privilege."

"I earned every inch of where I stand," she replied coldly. "Despite you."

Kenan tilted his head. "Your mother believed in me. In us. You know that?"

"She believed in hope. You turned it into a knife."

He reached for the flash drive.

She didn't flinch.

"This contains the override protocol," she said. "Use it. And let her go."

Kenan took it, his gloved fingers brushing hers briefly. He paused, searching her face.

"You're too calm," he murmured. "Why?"

Amaka's jaw didn't move. "Because this ends tonight."

Kenan pocketed the drive, tapped his phone, and sent coordinates to a burner device.

Kunle, watching from a separate secured channel, gave Obinna the nod.

"Trace active. He's uploading the code."

In the Echelon server room, Simi's screen blinked red.

"Hook engaged. He's opening the vault."

Obinna leaned closer. "Now."

Simi hit Enter.

The virus activated.

Kenan's system glitched.

Suddenly, files reversed. Folders collapsed. His location feed flickered.

On the bridge, Kenan's smile dropped.

His phone went dark.

"What the hell is this?" he snarled.

"The end of your illusion," Amaka whispered.

Kenan pulled a gun.

Too late.

Obinna emerged from the shadows behind him. "Drop it."

Kenan spun.

But before anyone could react—

Bang!

A gunshot cracked the silence.

Amaka screamed.

Obinna collapsed to one knee, gripping his shoulder, blood seeping through his shirt.

Kenan had fired wildly.

Amaka dropped beside Obinna, panic flooding her face. "No—no no no—stay with me."

Obinna's teeth clenched. "I'm… okay. Just a graze."

But he was pale.

Kenan turned to flee.

Sirens howled in the distance.

He ran—but not far.

From behind a concrete pillar, Kunle emerged and tackled him to the ground.

Moments later, Kenan was pinned, coughing and spitting blood, the virus-laced drive crushed beneath his boot.

"You think this is over?" he growled. "You think you've won?"

Amaka stood slowly.

Her voice trembled—not with fear, but fury.

"No," she said. "We didn't win. We survived."

Later, at the hospital, Obinna rested quietly, his shoulder wrapped, his pulse steady.

Amaka sat beside his bed, fingers laced with his.

"I should've been faster," she whispered.

"You were perfect," he replied weakly. "You were brilliant."

Her eyes welled.

"But at what cost?" she said. "He almost—"

"He didn't," Obinna cut in. "And now, he won't again."

Kunle entered quietly, holding a secure phone.

"They've retrieved Ifeoma. She's safe."

Amaka broke down in relief, covering her mouth.

"She's on her way here," Kunle added. "But there's something else…"

He handed her the phone.

Onscreen: a hidden folder found inside Kenan's database. Unopened until now.

Simi's voice echoed through a message log:

"Kenan had a backup plan. A second wave of leaks. Including bank transfers made under Obinna's name to foreign shell companies tied to election rigging in 2019. He was framing you."

Obinna's eyes widened.

Amaka's breath caught.

"This isn't over," she whispered.

"No," Obinna said grimly. "It's just evolved."

They looked at each other.

What they had fought for might be saved—but what was coming… was bigger than both of them.