PROOF
716 Words
The second call came with no greeting.
Mrs. Coker knew before the voice spoke that the balance had shifted.
“You are stalling,” the man said. His tone was still calm, but the patience was gone. “That is dangerous.”
“We are gathering funds,” she replied. “₦30 million is already in motion.”
“Then you misunderstand us.” A pause. “Negotiation requires motivation.”
Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”
On the other end of the line, something moved. A shuffle. Then—
“Shade,” a familiar voice said weakly.
Mrs. Coker screamed.
In the forest, Folashade felt Chike being pulled to his feet before she heard him cry out. The ropes bit into his wrists as two men dragged him forward, away from the captives.
“Chike!” she shouted, surging up despite the hands that shoved her back down.
“Shade, stay back!” he yelled, panic breaking through his control for the first time.
Khalifa turned sharply.
“Enough,” he said, stepping forward instinctively.
A rifle barrel pressed into his chest immediately.
“Stand down,” one of the senior men snapped. “This is business.”
Chike was forced to his knees near the edge of the clearing. A phone was held up in front of his face. He was breathing hard, eyes darting, but he lifted his head.
“Mummy,” he said hoarsely into the device. “They’re serious. Please—don’t let this be for nothing.”
The call ended abruptly.
Silence fell like a blade.
Shade’s chest felt hollowed out. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away. Chike was shoved back toward the group, collapsing beside her, shaking.
“They won’t kill him,” one of the guards said lazily. “Not yet.”
Yet.
Shade’s hands trembled as she leaned toward Chike. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, swallowing hard. “They’re escalating. That was a warning.”
Her eyes burned. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked bitterly. “For trusting the road?”
Before she could answer, Khalifa appeared beside them. He did not touch either of them, but his presence felt like a barrier.
“You shouldn’t have used him,” Khalifa said quietly to the others. “It weakens discipline.”
The senior man scoffed. “Fear strengthens it.”
Khalifa said nothing more—but something in his face had hardened, set like stone.
That night, Shade could not stop shaking.
The forest felt closer now, pressing in. Every sound made her flinch. Chike lay awake beside her, silent, staring into nothing.
“They’ll use me again,” he said finally. “They’ll keep pushing until the money comes—or until someone breaks.”
Shade closed her eyes. “I won’t let them.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t get a vote here.”
Later, when the camp had quieted, Khalifa returned. He crouched a few steps away this time, careful, restrained.
“They are losing patience,” he said softly.
“My family won’t stop,” Shade replied. “But they can’t move miracles.”
“No,” he agreed. Then, after a pause, “Which means the pressure will move here.”
She met his eyes. “Then why help us at all?”
Khalifa looked away—toward the dark forest, toward something unseen. “Because some prices are too high,” he said. “Even for men like me.”
Her heart thudded painfully. “And what will it cost you?”
He didn’t answer.
As he stood to leave, Shade spoke without thinking. “Khalifa.”
He stopped.
“Thank you,” she said. Not for kindness. For restraint. For seeing them as human.
His shoulders rose and fell once. “Stay alive,” he said quietly. “Both of you.”
When he disappeared into the trees, Shade lay back down, staring up at the night sky she could barely see.
The ransom clock was ticking. Chike’s life was now leverage. And somewhere between fear and defiance, she felt something else growing—slow, dangerous, impossible to ignore.
Hope.
And hope, she was learning, was the most dangerous proof of life of all.
- Writer
