Chapter 31: The Lion’s Den and the Unbreakable Gaze
---
The chill that traced down Yuhan's spine had little to do with the temperature. It was Mochen's gaze—burning through the screen like a brand—and the lingering knowledge that Abubakar Alhaji had stood at his gate, watching, waiting. The city around him, once a fortress of control, now felt like a glass cage cracking under pressure.
As he moved through the corridors of his compound, the quiet hum of his high-tech systems barely registered. Chike's death hung over him like smoke—unresolved, bitter. He hadn't known the man well, but he'd seen the fear in Chike's eyes and the courage it took to defy the silence. That kind of bravery carved deep. It demanded remembrance.
He stopped before a tall window that framed the midnight garden outside. The cypress trees stood rigid, too perfect. He remembered pruning roses with his father here once—hands rough, voice steady, teaching him that sometimes growth only came after cutting away what no longer served. That memory, sharp and sunlit, now clashed violently with the image of Chief Li—gagged, tied down, eyes dimmed with helplessness.
A storm brewed in Yuhan's chest. Fury, grief, and something older—guilt. He should've seen it coming. Should've protected the man who had always protected him.
His hand reached for a small carved bird on his desk—simple, smooth wood, worn from years of use. A gift from his mother. A lifeline now.
Enough. They would not break him. Or his family.
---
"Dapo," he said into the comm. "Did Mama Biola get the message? I need to know—did Abubakar receive it too?"
"Discreet confirmation in progress," Dapo replied. "We're tracking response signals."
Yuhan nodded. He slid a sidearm into the holster under his jacket, adjusted the placement of his concealed tools. The charcoal suit fit like armor—not just tailored fabric, but stitched purpose. He wasn't under any illusion a weapon would save him in Adekunle's den. But it was something. An anchor. A promise to himself.
---
The drive to Chief Adekunle's estate was short, but it felt stretched thin by tension. The streets of Biogbolo, normally pulsing with chaos and sound, felt muffled tonight. Like the city was holding its breath.
At the gate, iron wrought with ancestral symbols yawned open slowly. Jasmine floated in the air, cloying and sweet, almost mocking. This was no peace offering. It was a garden of lies.
Yuhan's vehicle was scanned and waved through. The second checkpoint was more thorough—armed men, silent and mechanical. Their scanner swept his suit but didn't catch the deeper layers.
The estate was decadent—wood-paneled walls lined with oil paintings, chandeliers dripping with gold light, hallways padded in silence. It was beautiful in the way tombs were beautiful—grand, ancient, final.
---
They brought him into the study. The scent hit him first: leather, expensive cigars, the quiet rot of too much power.
Chief Adekunle sat at a massive desk, draped in pristine white agbada, his posture calm and composed. Shen Mochen stood just beside him—sharp, immaculate, unreadable. But his eyes… his eyes burned the moment they locked onto Yuhan.
That old fire. Hungry. Possessive. Like he saw Yuhan as both prey and prize.
"Yuhan," Adekunle said smoothly. "We appreciate you coming. These are difficult times, we know."
Yuhan didn't bother responding. His gaze sliced straight to Mochen.
"Where is he?"
Mochen stepped forward, slowly, like a predator testing a perimeter. "Safe. For now. A necessary evil. He got us your attention, didn't he?"
There was something different in his voice now. Not just control. A softness. Want. The way someone might look at a painting they once ruined but still longed to touch.
"Let me see him," Yuhan snapped. "Or I walk out."
Adekunle sighed like a disappointed teacher. "Impatience doesn't serve anyone here."
Mochen gestured to the screen. It flickered to life.
Chief Li lay on a cot. Unbound, at least. Sleeping. Thin blanket pulled to his chest. Still breathing.
Yuhan's knees almost buckled with the sudden rush of relief. But it was fleeting. They were still playing him. Still using him.
---
Mochen stepped closer.
"The ledger," he said softly. "The Genesis piece. Your father for the truth. And your future, Yuhan... by my side."
Yuhan's breath caught.
There it was again—that quiet claim. Not just for power. But for him. Like Mochen didn't just want his cooperation—he wanted ownership.
He took a step back.
"You speak of truth," Yuhan said, his voice ice, "but you hide behind threats. If you want to negotiate, then give me something real. Tell me what the Genesis piece is. Tell me how my father fits into this—The Pact, the silence, everything."
Mochen tilted his head, studying Yuhan like he was remembering him from a lifetime ago.
Then he whispered, "The Genesis piece... is in you."
Yuhan froze.
Mochen's eyes flicked—barely—to the scar on Yuhan's wrist.
"You've always known things others couldn't. Done things others wouldn't dare. That's not just talent, Yuhan. It's design. You are the prototype of something bigger. And your father... he helped build it."
A silence followed—so deep Yuhan could hear his own heartbeat.
"He wasn't just a bystander," Mochen continued. "He was a witness. A facilitator. He signed the oath that bound your future to The Pact. And the cost of his silence... was you."
Yuhan staggered back a step. Not physically—but in his mind.
His father.
A part of it?
His chest tightened. Rage and betrayal tangled inside him.
"You're lying," he said. But the tremor in his voice betrayed doubt.
Mochen didn't gloat. He didn't smirk. He simply said, "Then ask him. If he lives long enough to answer."
At that moment, a subtle vibration buzzed in Yuhan's jacket. A private signal. He slipped his hand inside and checked the device.
Dapo's message. Just one word, flickering in the dark:
"Wait."
Yuhan's jaw clenched. Abubakar knew. The old woman had passed the message on. The next move was coming.
And it was no longer just a standoff between two men.
It was a silent war between three kings.
And Yuhan?
He was the prize.