Midnight. The cooperative was silent, empty of the day's hustle and purposeful chaos. Elian sat alone in his office, the only light a small desk lamp that cast long shadows across walls covered with maps, charts, and photographs.
The city hummed outside—distant traffic, occasional music, the ever-present pulse of Lagos breathing. But in this small room, there was only quiet, and the weight of everything that had brought him here.
He thought of the journey. The betrayal that had started it all. The streets where he had slept, hungry and hopeless. The System's first awakening, a whisper of power in the darkness. The slow, painful climb from nothing to something.
He thought of Samuel, who had believed when belief was dangerous. Of Comfort and Mama Bose, who had found their voices and chang
