The chill of the early morning air was a sharp contrast to the heat that clung to Lagos during the day. Yet, beneath the faint light of a swollen moon, the city's restless heartbeat pulsed stronger than ever. The streets were quiet, but Iyi knew better. Quiet wasn't peace. It was the calm before the storm.
He moved swiftly, shadow to shadow, through the twisting alleys behind the market district. Every footstep echoed louder than he wanted. His breath came in ragged bursts, partly from exertion and partly from the cold knot of fear tightening in his gut.
The black sponge the one left at his doorstep by the mysterious woman was wrapped carefully in his satchel. It felt heavier than it should, like it was carrying secrets too heavy for a mere object. But that sponge was the only clue he had, the only thread leading him closer to understanding the hunger that gnawed at his very being.
His phone vibrated suddenly, the screen lighting up with an unknown message.
"They are coming."
No sender. No further explanation.
Iyi's heart slammed against his ribs.
He knew who "they" were.
Last night's men those enforcers who marked his skin with that cruel blade weren't finished. They weren't just debt collectors. They were something else. Something older and darker.
He quickened his pace, ducking into a narrow passageway where the walls pressed close and the moonlight barely touched the cracked stones beneath his feet.
Behind him, a faint sound a shuffle, a breath, footsteps grew louder.
His pulse raced.
Iyi didn't look back. He couldn't. Not yet.
He turned sharply, the stench of damp earth filling his nostrils as he plunged into a forgotten courtyard, overgrown with thorny vines and weeds breaking through the cracked concrete. The city's pulse faded here, replaced by an eerie silence that pressed against his skin like a warning.
He paused, listening.
Nothing.
But the feeling of being hunted was thick in the air, crawling over his skin.
Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the darkness a figure cloaked in black, eyes gleaming with cold hunger.
"Stop running, Iyi," the voice hissed. "Your debts are not paid."
Iyi's breath hitched. The figure moved faster, closing the distance with unnatural speed. His survival instincts kicked in.
He dodged to the side, knocking over a rusted barrel that clattered loudly.
The shadow cursed and gave chase.
Iyi sprinted, heart hammering. He darted through winding alleys, desperate to lose his pursuer in the maze of the city's forgotten corners.
But no matter how fast he ran, the shadow was relentless.
It was as if it fed on his fear, growing stronger with every step.
He burst into a narrow street lined with shuttered shops, the faded signs swinging in the humid breeze.
Ahead, a faint glow the dim light of a shop's neon sign flickering.
Iyi veered toward it, hoping to find refuge or at least a witness.
But the shadow was upon him.
A cold hand clamped his shoulder, dragging him backward into the darkness.
Iyi struggled, but the grip was like iron.
The figure leaned close, breath cold against his ear.
"The hunger inside you is not yours to tame. It belongs to us."
Iyi's mind raced. He remembered the black envelope, the messages, the warnings.
"This isn't just about money or pride," he whispered, "It's about power."
The shadow tightened its grip.
But just as all seemed lost, a sudden noise a shout, a commotion erupted nearby.
The shadow released him, melting back into the darkness.
Iyi collapsed against a wall, gasping for breath.
From the alley, a group of street vendors emerged, their faces wary but protective.
"Are you okay, boy?" one asked, eyes sharp.
Iyi nodded weakly.
As dawn broke over Lagos, painting the sky with hues of gold and purple, Iyi realized something vital.
He was no longer just a boy running from hunger and debt.
He was hunted by shadows old as the city itself.
And to survive, he would have to face them not run.
The hunger was growing, but so was his resolve.