THE MAP BEHIND THE MIRROR

The air in Lagos was hot, thick with exhaust fumes and rumours.

Zainab sat in the backseat of a bolt cab, her fingers gripping a torn page from her diary. On it were only two words: "Moses Hall." A name Dapo once mumbled during a fever dream when she treated his wounds, back when betrayal hadn't yet taken root.

She didn't know what Moses Hall was—but she had a feeling it wasn't a church.

Obi finally called.

"They moved him to a ghost facility. Not Kuje. Not Kirikiri. Not even on the national registry."

"Then where?" she asked.

"I don't know. But I found something," he said. "Meet me in Ikeja. There's a woman. A former intelligence operative. Used to run a safehouse. She knows how the Bureau hides people."

One hour later, Zainab walked into a compound behind a quiet welding shop.

The woman—tall, dark-skinned, half-blind in one eye—opened the door holding a cigarette and a kitchen knife.

"You brought trouble," she said without smiling.

Zainab didn't flinch. "I need answers."

They sat. The woman poured dry gin into a steel cup.

"Moses Hall," she murmured. "That's not a place. It's a man. Code name."

Zainab froze.

"He's not just a warden," the woman continued. "He's a cleaner. The Bureau's personal exorcist. If they don't want you to die publicly, they send you to Moses."

"Where does he operate from?" Zainab's voice was barely a whisper.

The woman leaned in.

"There's a villa in Badagry. Poses as an orphanage. No one gets in without clearance. If Dapo's there… you don't have much time."

Zainab's heart beat faster.

"But there's something else," the woman added. "You need a map to the villa's underground. It's not just a building. It's a system—halls, tunnels, blind doors. And I know where to find the map."

"Where?"

The woman opened a cracked vanity mirror beside her and pulled out a brown envelope taped behind it.

She tossed it to Zainab.

"Inside this is your only chance. But once you step through that gate, you're no longer a tailor. You're a threat. They'll come for your blood."

Zainab stood, took the envelope, and nodded.

"They already are."

As she walked out, the woman muttered, "God help you, child."

But Zainab wasn't waiting for help anymore.

She had the map.

She had a mission.

And she was going to stitch this empire apart, thread by dirty thread.