The city looked calm that morning.
That was how it fooled people.
I walked slowly, hands in my pockets, letting the rhythm of the street settle in. Malik's lessons weren't about speed or strength — they were about attention. About noticing what didn't want to be noticed.
Across the road, a woman argued loudly with a bus conductor. Everyone watched her.
No one watched the man who slipped something into the gutter and kept walking.
I noticed him.
---
Kemi met me later, holding two meat pies and looking offended by the price.
"Guy, this city is wicked," he said. "Even hunger is expensive now."
I smiled. "You're still buying."
"Because hope is a liar," he replied, handing me one.
We sat on a low wall, watching people pass. For once, Kemi didn't joke.
"You've changed," he said.
I glanced at him. "Good change or bad change?"
He shrugged. "Different. Like you're listening to something the rest of us can't hear."
I thought of Malik. Of Nia. Of Zara.
"Just trying to understand where I stand," I said.
Kemi nodded slowly. "Just don't forget where you started."
---
Later that day, Nia found me.
She didn't greet me. She never did.
"You're late," she said.
"You didn't give a time."
She smirked. "Then you're early."
She led me through streets I rarely used — quieter ones, where people spoke softly and watched too much. We stopped near a closed shop.
"What do you see?" she asked.
"Nothing," I replied.
She shook her head. "Wrong answer."
I looked again.
A boy pretending to sweep the sidewalk. A woman standing too still. A car parked with the engine off but the driver inside.
"People waiting," I said slowly.
Nia smiled. "Now you're learning."
---
That evening, Zara and I walked together as the sun dipped low. The air felt heavier — like rain without clouds.
"You didn't tell me Nia would be involved," she said.
"I didn't know myself."
She sighed. "Malik doesn't introduce people unless he plans to keep them."
That stuck with me.
"Does that scare you?" I asked.
She looked ahead. "It reminds me."
"Of what?"
"Of how easy it is to get pulled in without realizing you've stopped moving forward."
I slowed my steps. "Do you think that's happening to me?"
She stopped walking.
"Jay," she said gently, "I think you're standing at the edge. What happens next depends on what you choose to protect."
Her words followed me long after we parted ways.
---
That night, Malik finally spoke plainly.
"You're doing well," he said over the phone. "But observation alone isn't enough anymore."
My heart tightened. "What's next?"
"Responsibility," he replied. "Not action. Not violence. Responsibility."
"For what?"
"For knowledge," he said. "Once you see things clearly, you're accountable for what you do with that sight."
Silence stretched.
"There's a meeting tomorrow," he continued. "You'll attend. You won't speak unless spoken to."
"And if I don't like what I hear?"
Malik chuckled softly. "Then you'll understand the city better."
The call ended.
---
I didn't sleep much.
When morning came, I visited home again. My father sat quietly, listening to the radio.
"You've been around," he said. "That's good."
"I don't know if I'll always be," I admitted.
He looked at me. "Then make sure when you leave, you leave something good behind."
Simple words. Heavy meaning.
---
The meeting was held in a place that looked harmless — a small restaurant closed for "renovation." Inside were faces I'd never seen, but somehow recognized.
People who didn't rush.
People who waited.
Malik sat at the center. Nia stood nearby. Zara wasn't there.
"Jay," Malik said calmly, "listen."
They spoke about routes. About influence. About pressure applied without noise. No shouting. No threats.
Just control.
I listened.
And realized something frightening.
The city didn't need chaos to move.
It moved quietly.
When the meeting ended, Malik looked at me.
"You understand now," he said.
I nodded.
"Good," he continued. "Because from this point on, what you do — and what you don't do — will matter."
I stepped outside into the night air, heart heavy.
The city looked the same.
But I knew better.
What didn't show on the surface was always the most dangerous part.