LINES AND CROSSROADS
734 Words
The figures closed in, the sound of their boots crunching against gravel sending jolts of panic through my veins.
Titi’s head lolled forward, her hair hiding most of her face, but I could see the bruises on her wrists, the way her chest rose and fell too quickly. She was alive — but not well.
“Let her go,” I called out, my voice carrying more strength than I felt.
One of the men laughed — low, humorless. “We’ll trade. You know the terms.”
Femi’s hand brushed mine, so brief I almost thought I imagined it. “Stay behind me,” he murmured.
But I stepped forward anyway. “I’m here. Take me, let her walk away.”
The leader — tall, broad-shouldered, face hidden under a scarf — tilted his head. “Your father owed more than he could pay. You think one daughter will cover the cost?”
My jaw tightened. “I think I’m the only one who can.”
He studied me for a moment before snapping his fingers. The man holding Titi shoved her forward. She stumbled, nearly falling, before Femi caught her.
Relief hit me hard, almost buckling my knees.
But the leader’s gaze never left mine. “We’ll be in touch,” he said, his voice a promise and a threat in one. “You still belong to us.”
And just like that, they melted back into the shadows, leaving the smell of salt and metal in their wake.
---
Femi’s POV
I didn’t speak on the drive back. I was too busy replaying the meeting in my head, every possible angle we could have exploited, every moment I should have pulled her out.
Titi sat in the back seat, quiet, clinging to consciousness. Ada kept glancing at me, her expression unreadable.
When we reached the safe house, I helped Titi to the couch, then stepped outside to clear my head. I needed to explain myself — not for strategy, not for the mission, but for her.
---
Ada’s POV
I found him leaning against the balcony railing, staring at the street below like it might give him answers.
“You going to keep brooding out here all night?” I asked.
He turned slightly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe.”
I stepped closer, folding my arms. “You kept things from me. About my father. About you.”
“I did.”
I waited for an excuse. None came.
Instead, he said, “I’m sorry.”
The words caught me off guard. “You… what?”
“I thought keeping you in the dark would keep you safe. I was wrong.”
There was a weight to his tone, a kind of vulnerability I hadn’t heard from him before.
“I need you to trust me,” he continued. “And I need to start giving you reasons to.”
I arched a brow. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
“Dinner,” he said simply. “No lies. No secrets. Just us.”
I wanted to laugh. After everything, he was asking me on a date? But the truth was… I wanted to say yes.
So I did.
---
The Date
Femi didn’t take me anywhere fancy. Instead, he led me through winding back streets to a rooftop in Surulere, where a single table was set under strings of soft, glowing lights.
We ate jollof rice and grilled fish, the city spread out around us like a living mural. For a while, the danger felt far away.
He told me about his childhood, the years before he got pulled into the shadows. I told him about my first painting — a messy portrait of my mother I’d hidden under my bed for months.
When he reached across the table and took my hand, my heart skipped in a way that scared me more than the threats ever had.
---
Titi’s Disappearance
We got back to the safe house close to midnight, laughter still clinging to the edges of the evening.
The laughter died the second we opened the door.
Titi was gone.
The blanket she’d been wrapped in lay crumpled on the floor, and the back window was open, curtains billowing in the night air.
A single piece of paper sat on the couch.
A red s***h, drawn in thick, wet ink.
---
- Writer
