THREADS OF BETRAYAL

They didn't come with bullets.They came with rumours.

Lies whispered into the ears of journalists.Anonymous messages sent to bloggers.Fake documents leaked strategically.

One by one, Zainab's allies started to disappear—not into graves, but into silence.

Obi's phone line suddenly stopped going through.Aisha sent one last encrypted text—"They've traced my sister. I need to lay low."

And her father…He was summoned by the military board and told to prepare for an official inquiry into "financial irregularities."

Zainab stood in the centre of her hotel room, the walls closing in, but her back still straight.

They wanted her alone.

They didn't understand…She was forged in loneliness.

She stared at the news headline on her cracked phone screen:

"Anonymous Leak Queen Allegedly Linked to Underground Hacker Group."

Her own face beneath it.

Her old tailoring shop address leaked online.

The comment section was chaos:

"So she's been working with criminals?"

"They said her tailoring was a front."

"This girl needs to be stopped before she brings war."

Zainab exhaled slowly.

She wasn't angry at the people.She was angry at how easy it was to manipulate them.

And deep down… a part of her hurt.

All she ever wanted was to stitch truth back into a torn society.

A knock on the door.

Her eyes snapped up.She reached for the small knife hidden beneath her Qur'an.

Another knock.

She tiptoed to the door.

"Who is it?"

Silence.

Then a voice:

"It's Obi."

She flung the door open—

It was him.

Bruised. Limping. Shirt torn.

"Obi!"

He fell into her arms.

"They got to me," he whispered. "I was captured."

Her breath caught. "How did you—?"

"They didn't know I swallowed a tracker. Raji found me. He's in the car downstairs. But Zainab…"

He looked into her eyes.

"Someone inside your camp… is feeding them everything."

Zainab felt her stomach twist.

It wasn't the military.It wasn't the cabals.It was someone she trusted.

She helped Obi sit and grabbed her notebook.

Two names.Three locations.Five numbers.

She circled one: Fatiha.

Fatiha had been the first to comfort her.The first to hide her.The first to tell her about Raven's origins.

But now…

Zainab couldn't shake the memory—how Fatiha suddenly stopped asking about the USB.How she always knew where Zainab was… even when no one else did.

Was it her?

Or someone else?

"I have to confirm this," Zainab muttered.

She opened her laptop.Ran a trace.Cross-checked messages, coordinates, timestamps.

Then it appeared.

A code embedded in one of Fatiha's forwarded files—harmless on the surface. But under it… a silent tracker.

Zainab's hands shook.

It was her.

Fatiha was the leak.

She didn't cry.She didn't scream.

She stood up, straightened her scarf, and whispered:

"They want war.Let's sew them a burial shroud."