The night air was heavy with the scent of rain. The streets of Ajegunle glistened under the dim glow of the streetlights, puddles reflecting broken images of the world above them. Mercy walked quickly, her worn sandals slapping the damp ground, her bag hugged tightly to her chest. She had stayed late at the community radio station to finish editing a special broadcast, and the clock had ticked past ten before she realized how late it had gotten.
Her heart beat a little faster with every step. Not because she was scared—Ajegunle had taught her to be alert, not afraid—but because her mind was busy replaying the strange conversation she'd overheard earlier that evening.
She had been in the station's storage room, looking for extra batteries, when two voices drifted in from the corridor outside. She recognized one of them instantly—Mr. Oladele, the senior broadcaster who was supposed to be her mentor. The other voice was unfamiliar, low and urgent.
"She's getting too popular," the strange voice had said. "If she continues like this, she'll become harder to control. We need to put her in her place."
Oladele had chuckled, the sound bitter and cold. "Leave it to me. She's young. Na only small intimidation go make am quiet."
Mercy had frozen, batteries in hand, her mind racing. Were they talking about her? It felt like it. In the past few weeks, her name had been buzzing all over the local community and beyond. Her segment on "Voices of the Streets" had gone viral on social media after she interviewed a single mother who exposed corruption in the city council. The woman's story had struck a chord with thousands, but clearly, not everyone was happy about it.
She reached her street and paused, glancing around. The rain had stopped, leaving the world smelling fresh but feeling uneasy. Somewhere far off, music played faintly from a roadside bar. She reached the rusted gate to her family's compound and pushed it open quietly so as not to wake Mama.
Inside, the familiar creak of the wooden door welcomed her. Mercy slipped into the small room she shared with her younger brother, Dele. He was fast asleep, his school uniform draped neatly over the back of a chair. She set her bag down gently and changed into her nightdress, but her mind refused to rest.
She pulled out her small notebook—the one where she wrote her thoughts when they were too tangled to keep inside.
"They want to silence me. But why? What have I done except tell the truth?"
The sound of her pen scratching against the paper was soothing, but the unease in her chest didn't fade. She knew she needed advice, but who could she trust?
Her phone buzzed suddenly. The screen lit up with a message from Tunde.
Tunde: You still awake?
She hesitated before typing back.
Mercy: Yes. Just got home.
Tunde: I need to talk to you. It's important.
Her stomach tightened. Tunde didn't usually sound this serious unless something was wrong.
They agreed to meet the next afternoon at a small café near the market.
The café was almost empty when Mercy arrived the next day. She spotted Tunde in the corner, his brows furrowed, fingers drumming nervously against the table.
"Mercy," he greeted, standing up. He didn't smile this time.
She sat down, her heart thudding. "What's wrong?"
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "I heard something last night… and I think you're in danger."
Her eyes widened. "Danger? From who?"
Tunde hesitated, glancing around the room before speaking again. "A friend of mine works at the local council office. He overheard a meeting. They were talking about shutting down the station… and using you as an example. They want to frame you for spreading false information."
Mercy's breath caught. The pieces fell together like jagged glass—Oladele's conversation, the strange looks she'd been getting from certain people in the office, and now this.
"So what do I do?" she whispered.
Tunde's gaze was steady. "You need to be careful. Keep every piece of evidence from your stories. Record everything. And… don't trust Oladele."
She nodded slowly, her mind already racing ahead. She couldn't just back down. Too many people were counting on her to tell their stories—the voiceless, the forgotten. But she also couldn't afford to be reckless.
That evening, back at the station, Mercy kept her head low, pretending to be focused on editing her next segment. But her eyes flicked toward Oladele's office every few minutes. He was in there with the door closed, speaking on the phone.
When he finally emerged, he spotted her and walked over with a thin smile. "Ah, Mercy. Working late again, eh? You're very dedicated."
She forced a polite smile. "Yes, sir. Just trying to finish before tomorrow's deadline."
He patted her shoulder lightly, but there was something in his eyes—something that made her skin crawl. "Good. But remember, sometimes it's better to know when to stop digging into certain matters. Not every truth needs to be told."
Mercy's smile faltered. "I believe the truth is always worth telling."
His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he walked away.
She let out a slow breath. Her instincts were screaming now—this wasn't just about a story. It was personal.
Over the next few days, strange things began happening. A file she had carefully prepared for her next segment went missing from her desk. An anonymous text arrived warning her to "stay quiet if you value your safety." And then, worst of all, her access to certain recording equipment was suddenly revoked, with Oladele claiming it was due to "maintenance."
Mercy kept her cool in public, but inside, she was burning with determination.
Late one night, after the station had closed, she returned quietly with Tunde. He had brought a small camera. Together, they searched the equipment room for anything suspicious—and they found it. Hidden behind a stack of old broadcast tapes was a folder containing fake reports and doctored audio clips with her name on them.
"They're going to use this to frame you," Tunde said grimly.
Mercy swallowed hard. "Then we have to act fast. If they think they can silence me, they've underestimated how far I'll go for the truth."
By the time they left the station, the rain had started again, tapping softly against the tin roofs. Mercy felt the weight of what lay ahead, but also a spark of courage. She had faced poverty, doubt, and loss. Now she would face corruption—and she wasn't going to face it alone.
The whispers in the dark had turned into a challenge, and Mercy Ajayi was ready to answer.