FIRE AND DISTANCE
1368 Words
Chapter 4 – Fire and Distance
Ada’s POV
I used to think the worst feeling in the world was not knowing what would happen next.
I was wrong.
The worst feeling is knowing you’re in someone else’s plan — and they’re not telling you what role you’re meant to play.
After the warehouse, I didn’t speak to Femi for hours. We’d returned to the safe house in silence, the city flashing past us like we were trapped inside a film reel neither of us could stop. He didn’t try to explain, and I didn’t ask again.
But I knew one thing — if I didn’t start preparing myself, I’d be swallowed whole by whatever game The Archivist was playing.
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Step One: Information
When Femi left to “check on a lead,” I raided the tiny storage closet in the safe house. Most of it was junk — old papers, spare locks, a flashlight. But at the bottom of a box, wrapped in plastic, I found a battered laptop.
It booted slowly, the fan wheezing like it was on its last breath, but eventually a login screen flickered up. The password hint was “legacy”.
My father’s favorite word.
I tried Legacy2020. No luck. Legacy&Light. Still nothing.
On the fifth try — Legacy77 — the screen opened to a desktop littered with encrypted files. I clicked one. It asked for another password.
I stared at the blinking cursor, a knot tightening in my chest. I was close. Too close.
---
Step Two: Allies
I sent a coded message to my gallery assistant, Mariam. If anyone could get me quiet information without drawing suspicion, it was her. I told her I needed to know everything about a man named “The Archivist” — and about a red s***h symbol.
Her reply came back ten minutes later: Careful. These aren’t names you type without a shadow following you.
---
Femi’s POV
I’d told her to stay put. I knew she wouldn’t.
Ada was a fighter, whether she admitted it or not. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t walked away the moment this job landed on my desk.
But fighters without armor get cut the deepest.
The lead I’d gone to check had been a dead end — a man who owed the Archivist money and thought he could trade gossip for protection. Now he was in hiding, and I was heading back with nothing but more questions.
I wasn’t supposed to care. She was just another assignment. A woman with a target on her back and a file thicker than most.
But every time she looked at me like she was trying to decide if I was worth trusting, something shifted.
And that was dangerous.
---
Ada’s POV
By the time Femi returned, I’d mapped out my own plan.
“We’re going to find Titi before they expect us,” I said, standing as he walked in.
He froze in the doorway. “We?”
“Yes. I’m done waiting for you to decide when I get to act.”
Something dark flickered in his eyes. “You think you’re ready for what’s out there?”
I took a step closer. “I think I’m tired of hiding.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His jaw was tight, but his gaze didn’t leave mine.
Then his phone rang.
He answered, listening without a word. When he hung up, his face was unreadable.
“They’ve made a new demand,” he said quietly.
My pulse jumped. “What is it?”
He hesitated. “You. Alone.”
Ada’s POV
Femi’s words hung in the air like smoke from an unseen fire.
You. Alone.
It was the kind of demand you only agreed to if you were desperate… or foolish. I wasn’t sure which I was anymore.
“They want me because of my father,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “If I go, maybe I can figure out what they really want. Maybe I can buy time for Titi.”
His eyes darkened. “Or maybe they take you, and I never see you again.”
I almost laughed. “That sounds like you care.”
For a moment, something flickered in his expression — a crack in the armor. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
“This isn’t a joke, Ada,” he said. “The Archivist doesn’t bluff. You walk into this, you’re not walking out without blood on your hands — maybe yours.”
“Then you’ll just have to be fast enough to stop that from happening,” I replied.
---
Femi’s POV
She was infuriating. Reckless. Impossible to reason with.
And she was right — the more we waited, the more the walls closed in.
But letting her walk into the lion’s den wasn’t a strategy I could stomach. Not when I’d seen what The Archivist’s men did to people who crossed them. Not when I’d felt that surge of fear in my chest at the thought of losing her.
I told myself it was tactical — she was a witness, a bargaining chip, nothing more.
I didn’t believe it.
---
Ada’s POV
We spent the next hours preparing. Femi moved like a man who’d done this a hundred times — checking escape routes, stashing weapons, drilling me on what to say and what not to say.
“Never admit you know more than you do,” he said. “Never give them a timeline. And never, ever let them separate you from your bag.”
“My bag?” I asked.
His mouth twitched, just barely. “Trust me.”
The strange part was… I did.
---
The Night Before
We were supposed to rest before the handover, but the safe house felt too small, too heavy with what was coming. I sat by the window, staring out at the dark Yaba street, the hum of distant traffic filling the silence.
Femi came up behind me. I could feel the heat of him before I heard his voice.
“You’re too calm,” he said quietly.
“I’m too tired to be scared.”
He stepped closer, and I turned. The shadows cut across his face, but his eyes were locked on mine — steady, unblinking.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I do.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then his hand lifted, slow, like he was giving himself a chance to stop. He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.
My breath caught.
The distance between us felt like it was shrinking on its own.
Then, just as quickly, he stepped back. “Get some sleep, Ada.”
---
Femi’s POV
I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.
I kept running scenarios in my head — ways to get her in and out, ways to flush The Archivist’s men without tipping our hand.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her — not afraid, but looking at me like she was trying to memorize my face.
I’d been in this business long enough to know what that meant.
---
Ada’s POV
Morning came too soon.
We left before the city was fully awake, Femi leading the way down back streets and through quiet alleys until we reached a battered sedan parked under a jacaranda tree.
The drive was silent. Every turn felt like it could be the last one before something happened.
When we reached the meeting point — an abandoned shipping yard by the water — my heart was pounding so hard I was sure they’d hear it before I got out of the car.
Femi cut the engine. “Remember the rules,” he said.
I nodded.
“And Ada?”
“Yeah?”
His gaze held mine. “If anything happens… run.”
Before I could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed from the far end of the yard. Figures emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden, their steps slow and deliberate.
One of them carried something over his shoulder.
A body.
And even before they stepped into the light, I knew.
Titi.
- Writer
