CHAPTER 63

The boat cut through the thick Bayelsa fog like a needle slicing fabric.

Zainab sat in silence, her fingers clutched around the flash drive from the thermos, the weight of the golden thread like a promise—or a curse—wrapped in her palm.

Obi manned the motor, scanning the water with trained eyes. They were deep in delta territory now. No cell service. No satellites. No second chances.

The rig appeared like a ghost from the mist.Massive. Rusted. Silent.Once a shell company's oil operation. Now… something else.

Obi slowed the boat and tossed a rope.Zainab climbed first, her boots slipping on the wet iron steps.Her heart beat steady—but her mind replayed Saliu's words:

"She wasn't just a tailor either…"

At the top deck, a motion sensor clicked.

A red light blinked once.

Then a voice—filtered, synthetic, unmistakably male—spoke from hidden speakers:

"Welcome back, Hadiza's daughter."

Zainab froze.

No one had called her mother Hadiza since… since before the scandal. Before Ilorin. Before she was even old enough to spell espionage.

Obi drew his gun.

"Trap?" he asked.

Zainab shook her head. "No. This… feels personal."

They entered the rig's control room. The walls were covered in schematics. Satellite images. Bank accounts. Project names like CLOTHWORK, EMBERCOIL, ORIKI PROTOCOL.

A man stood near the central console.

Old. Bald. One eye cloudy.He wore an EFCC tag that read: Director G.O. Bello.

"I was your mother's handler," he said without preamble. "She trained at Ife, recruited at 22. The Bureau wanted her for surveillance work in textile hubs across West Africa. But she… she had her own mission."

Zainab's mouth was dry.

"She died in a market fire."

Director Bello shook his head.

"She disappeared after discovering Raven and Jackal were collaborating with rogue state actors. She sent one final message—hidden in a seam."

He reached behind a cabinet and pulled out a framed child's dress.

Pink. Faded. Simple.

He flipped it over.

The hem was lined with red thread—one long sentence embroidered backwards.

Zainab read it aloud:

"If they find this, they found me. Protect my daughter. Tell her the real enemy wears a badge."

Obi looked at Zainab, stunned.

Her hands trembled.

"I thought… she abandoned us."

"No," Bello replied. "She burned her identity to keep you safe. Just like you're doing now."

The flash drive trembled in her palm.

She slotted it into the console.

Footage. Letters. Coordinates. A voice recording of a young Hadiza:

"The Bureau isn't broken. It was built this way. If you're hearing this, you've become what I couldn't… The tailor who cuts the cloth of justice."

Zainab's eyes stung.

Obi asked, "What now?"

She turned toward the balcony. The sun had broken the fog. For the first time in months, the light looked honest.

"We don't just stitch the truth anymore," Zainab said. "We wear it loud."

And somewhere beneath her ribs, the needle turned again.