THE ROOM WITH NO MIRRORS
2:00 AM.Kingsbridge Hotel. Room 408.
The hallway was silent.No footsteps.No reception staff in sight.Even the light above Room 408 flickered—once, then steadied, as if warning or welcoming.
Zainab stood in front of the door, the small metal key clutched tightly in her palm.
Every inch of her screamed don't go in.But curiosity is a thread—once pulled, it doesn't stop unraveling.
She slipped the key in.
Click.
The door opened.
She stepped inside.
No one was there.
Just a large, dimly lit suite.A table. Two chairs.One glass of water. One file.And no mirrors anywhere.
Zainab locked the door behind her.The silence pressed in.
She approached the table.
The file was labeled: "OPERATION: NEEDLE"
Inside:
Her father's signed resignation letter from the army, dated 1999.
A series of internal memos showing illegal transactions between RAVEN's security firm and foreign arms dealers.
A single black-and-white photo of her father and Akinleye—arms around each other, laughing, with a bloodied man tied to a chair behind them.
Zainab's hand flew to her mouth.
The caption scribbled in red pen read:
"Every patriot has a past."
Suddenly, behind her—The door creaked open.
She turned.
The Raven stood there.
No mask.No smile.Just presence.
"Why did you call me here?" Zainab asked, her voice steady.
He walked in slowly, closing the door behind him.
"To show you that your war isn't with me. It's with what this country does to people like us."
Zainab stepped back.
"You sent men to kill Obi. You kidnapped Fatiha. You sent me pictures of my father's shame."
"I gave you perspective," Raven said coolly."And power. You've gone further than most because I let you live."
Her voice cracked.
"You're bluffing."
He stepped closer.
"Am I?"
He handed her a USB.
"Take this. Broadcast it. It's everything I've done. Every crime. Every account. Every name."
Zainab stared at it like it was made of fire.
"Why give me this?"
"Because I'm dying."
Silence.
"I have stage four pancreatic cancer," he added, almost casually."Few months left. Maybe less."
Zainab's knees weakened, but she didn't sit.
"I don't want legacy," Raven said, walking past her. "I want chaos. I want to burn everything before the vultures rewrite it."
Zainab's voice came out in a whisper.
"You want me to burn the system… for you?"
He looked back.
"No. I want to watch you do it—before death claims me."
Then he left.
Zainab stood alone.
USB in one hand. File in the other.
And a country's fate in her chest.