The Glove Remembers.

Chapter 5: Turbulence.

The biohazard bag hit my lap like a brick.

Ife had double-sealed it. Gloves inside. Zara inside.

“Seatbelts,” Ife said. She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at the bag.

It was moving.

Not much. Just a twitch. Like something taking a breath.

Then the knocking started.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

From inside the sealed plastic.

Hayes, in the passenger seat, didn’t turn around. “Drive.”

My nose started bleeding.

One drop hit the bag. Dark. Thick. It didn’t smear. It _sank_. Like the plastic was drinking it.

“Amara.” Tunde’s voice, tight, from behind me. “You’re bleeding.”

Ife slammed the car into reverse. “Heads down if you’re gonna faint. I’m not stopping for puke.”

She peeled out of my apartment complex at 2:53 AM. Wuse was dead. Streetlights cut the road into yellow and black. The only other car was a police pickup with no plates, idling two blocks down.

It didn’t follow us. It didn’t need to.

Hayes’ phone buzzed. He answered before the second ring. Listened. Said three words.

“She’s awake. Move to phase two.”

He hung up.

The air in the car dropped ten degrees. My breath fogged. Ife’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel.

“Who’s awake?” I said. Blood filled my mouth. Metal and salt.

Hayes kept his eyes on the road. “Your sister should’ve stayed dead, Amara. For everyone’s sake.”

Ife took Ahmadu Bello Way too fast. The car jumped a pothole.

My hand slammed down. Right onto the biohazard bag.

The world went white.

---

_Blend. Rooftop. Rain._

_Zara, in her black leather gloves. Hair stuck to her face. Lipstick smeared like she’d been screaming._

_“You don’t understand what you’re protecting!” she’s yelling. Not at me. At someone else._

_A man. Back to me. Tall. Broad. He smells like Tunde._

_That cologne. Tom Ford. Tunde’s birthday gift from me._

_The man grabs Zara’s wrist. The left one. The glove._

_“Give it to me,” he says. Voice is wrong. Too deep. Modulated?_

_Zara laughs. Wild. Broken. “It’s already in her. You’re too late.”_

_He shoves her._

_She stumbles. The ledge is right there._

_She looks straight at me. Through me. Past me._

_Her lips move. Two words._

_Then she falls._

---

I came to with Ife’s hand slapping my face.

“Amara! Hey! Eyes on me!”

Penlight. Left eye. Right eye. “Pupil response slow. Possible absence seizure.” She turned and snarled at Hayes. “What the hell did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” Hayes said. “That’s the glove.”

Tunde was gripping my shoulders from the backseat. “She blanked out. Ten seconds. Like she was gone.”

Ten seconds. It had felt like ten minutes.

I wiped my nose. More blood. My head was splitting. But I remembered two things from the vision.

One: The man who pushed her. Tunde’s build. Tunde’s cologne. But the voice was wrong.

Two: What Zara mouthed before she fell.

_Trust no one._

Ife met my eyes in the rearview. “What did you see?”

I couldn’t tell her. Not with Hayes in the car. Not with Tunde listening. _Trust no one._

“Nothing,” I lied. “Just dizzy.”

Ife didn’t believe me. Her jaw ticked. But she drove.

National Hospital glowed ahead. White and sterile. Safe.

Hayes twisted in his seat. Held out his hand. “I’ll carry the bag.”

The biohazard bag on my lap was still.

And for the first time since the AC in my apartment, it was cold.

Not cool. _Cold_. Like meat in a freezer.

Ife felt it too. Her eyes flicked to the bag, then to me.

Hayes took it. His fingers brushed mine.

Nothing happened. No spark. No frost. To him, it was just leather.

He looked confused. Then scared.

He shoved the bag under his arm and opened the car door. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t move.

Because the last thing I felt, before the glove went cold, was a feeling. Not a word. Not a voice.

A feeling, shoved straight into my chest.

_Abandoned._

The glove had never been cold before.

Whatever was in there with Zara...

It just died.