PART ONE: THE ONES WHO WERE THERE
18:09. The First of February.
The day had bled out early, leaving a bruised twilight over the city's eastern edge. The shopping plaza parking lot was a vast, dark canvas, its asphalt still holding the day's chill. Sparse islands of light sat beneath tall lampposts, their light doing little more than pushing the shadows around. Cars were scattered like afterthoughts—a sensible sedan here, a workman's van there—enough to say the place wasn't abandoned, but not enough to suggest life. A near-circle of stores formed the plaza's perimeter: a 24-hour gym; the cold, blue-white glow of a tech store, its screens displaying peaceful landscapes to no one; and the warm aura of a Burger King, its faux-regal logo a beacon of cheap comfort.
At a wrought-iron table anchored to the concrete outside the Burger King, a young girl sat alone.
Elizabeth Osi was fourteen, a knot of restless energy bundled into a puffer coat zipped to her chin. Her schoolbag, overstuffed and slumped on the chair beside her, was a repository of half-finished equations and dog-eared scripts. In her hands, her phone. She was lost in a YouTube video, a movie reviewer's hyper-analytical voice dissecting the new Marvel movie in her ears. She'd stayed late after school, helping construct a woefully lopsided castle for the Drama Club's upcoming production. A text from her mother, sent forty minutes prior: Wrapping up. Wait for me? Burger King. My treat. x
She shivered, tucking her chin deeper into her collar. The headphones, large and black, enveloped her ears, pressing down on the tight, dark curls of her practical bob. She was adrift, foot tapping a silent rhythm, unaware of the approaching silhouette.
He didn't emerge from a car. He simply materialized from the deeper gloom between the gym and a dumpster enclosure. A grey hoodie, fabric worn soft from countless washes, was pulled up over his head. It cast his face into a pocket of shadow, revealing only the lower half: a clean-shaven jaw, lips that held no particular expression. But his eyes were active, missing nothing. They scanned. They landed on Elizabeth and stuck. He noted the specific slope of her shoulders, the way her thumb scrolled the screen, the absent twist of a headphone wire around her index finger. This wasn't a passing glance. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
He bypassed the restaurant's double doors. Without a sound, he pulled out the chair at the table directly behind hers. The metal shrieked softly against the concrete. He sat, his posture slack, but his attention was a laser. A predator's patience. He watched the minute details of her solitude: the frayed stitching on her bag strap, the decal of a faded band on her phone case, the way her eyebrows drew together when the reviewer made a contentious point.
Satisfied, his gaze finally broke from her. It performed a slow, systematic reconnaissance. Through the glass wall of the Burger King, he studied the interior: a young family with a fussing toddler in a high chair; a solitary man in a reflective vest shovelling fries; three employees behind the counter, moving with the lethargic rhythm of a shift nearing its end. No one was looking outward. His head turned, a slow pan across the parking lot. No engines growled to life. No headlights sliced the gloom. The tech store was empty, a cashier visible under the stark light, staring at a phone. The gym's automatic doors hissed open for a moment, then closed, admitting no one. A profound, wind-whipped silence settled over everything, broken only by the distant, mechanical hum of a rooftop HVAC unit.
Clear.
The word formed in his mind, not as a relief, but as a confirmation of opportunity.
Just him and the girl.
He drew a long, quiet breath, the cold air a sharp tonic in his lungs. This was the threshold. His muscles tensed under the loose hoodie, a coil preparing to release. He placed his palms flat on the cold metal of the table and began to push himself up.
Ding-dong.
The cheerful electronic chime of the Burger King door was a shockwave in the stillness.
He froze, caught in a half-crouch, his plan shattered by mundane reality. A woman shouldered her way out, a paper takeout bag in one hand, and blinked against the sudden twilight.
Taiwo Osi was a woman who carried her fatigue with a kind of weary grace. She stood maybe five-seven, wrapped in a knee-length wool-blend coat that had clearly been a careful purchase several winters ago. Its cut was still good, its burgundy color just faded enough to be called "vintage" by a generous observer. The cuffs were slightly frayed, one button was newer and darker than the others. It spoke of a person who valued presentability but was working with a small budget. Her hair was a magnificent crown of tight, dark brown coils, pulled back into a practical but softening ponytail. She shifted a large leather handbag—a companion in age and wear to the coat—onto her shoulder, and her eyes, sharp and maternal, immediately canvassed the lot.
They found Elizabeth. Instantly, the weariness in her posture was edged out by a focused warmth. She walked over, her boots making soft, decisive clicks on the pavement. Reaching her daughter, she leaned down and gently lifted the right earpiece of the headphones.
Elizabeth jumped, her world of critical analysis violently invaded by the real one. "Ọmọ mi," Taiwo said, her voice a blend of affection and gentle reproach. "If you listen to that angry man any longer, your brain will curdle."
"Mum!" Elizabeth protested, a flush of adolescent embarrassment warming her cheeks. "He's not angry, he's insightful. You just don't get it."
"I get a headache," Taiwo retorted, but she was smiling now, the lines around her eyes crinkling. She tapped her daughter's nose. "Come. Your fortress of fatty delights awaits. And because you aced that maths test, I am authorising a fizzy drink. A violation of my own rules."
The bribe, delivered with their familiar shorthand, worked. Elizabeth's face transformed, irritation melting into a gleeful smile. She stuffed her phone into her bag, hoisted the weight onto her shoulder with a grunt, and snatched back her headphones with an exaggerated sigh. "You drive a hard bargain."
It was then that the man moved.
He closed the distance between the two tables in three smooth, silent strides. He'd reassembled his demeanour completely; the predatory stillness was gone, replaced by the benign aura of a friendly stranger killing time.
"They never listen to the music we like, do they?" he said, his voice a mild, pleasant baritone. It was the kind of voice you'd hear giving polite directions or making small talk in a waiting room. Utterly unremarkable.
Taiwo turned. Her left arm, as if on a spring, curled around Elizabeth's shoulders, drawing her daughter in against her hip. Her smile remained but cooled by several degrees, becoming polite, permeable—the universal shield for a mother in a public space.
"A universal law, I think," she replied, her tone light but her eyes doing a quick, professional appraisal of him: the hoodie, the clean jeans, the ordinary trainers. "Do you have children?"
"Two," he said, nodding with a semblance of warm recollection. He kept his focus primarily on Taiwo, but his gaze kept slipping, like a dropped stitch, to Elizabeth, who was now fiddling with her bag's zipper. "A boy and a girl. Seven and nine. Some days, the noise… I swear they're trying to drive me mad on purpose." He offered a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. It was a good chuckle. Practiced. "Wouldn't trade the chaos for all the quiet in the world, though."
"That's what we tell ourselves," Taiwo said, her body already beginning to pivot subtly toward the car park. "It's the contract we sign."
"Heading in for a late dinner?" he asked, gesturing with his chin toward the Burger King. His hands were buried in the pouch pocket of his hoodie.
"Oh, just a pit stop," Taiwo said. She smoothed a hand over Elizabeth's hair. "This one deserves a reward. Top of her class in maths this term."
"Brilliant. Well done," he said, offering Elizabeth a nod of approval she didn't see. His eyes returned to Taiwo, his expression softening into one of hesitant concern. "Listen, I hope this isn't terribly forward. It's just… You mentioned a pit stop after work." He paused, letting the assumption hang. "I work with a small local foundation—The Ladder Project. We partner with businesses to place people in stable, salaried office positions. Reception, data entry, and admin support. That sort of thing. The pay is… substantially better than retail or service hours." His glance at her coat was fleeting, seemingly accidental. "If you're ever looking for a change or just exploring options, I could make an introduction. No promises, of course, but we have a high success rate."
His hand emerged from his pocket. Pinched between his thumb and forefinger was a simple, cream-colored business card. He held it out, not thrusting, but presenting. An offering.
Taiwo's polite smile tightened at the corners. She took a half-step back, pulling Elizabeth with her, creating a subtle new boundary. "That's… incredibly thoughtful of you. Truly. But those kinds of services usually have fees, placement charges. It's not something I've budgeted for." Her voice was firm, a door politely but firmly being closed.
"No," he said quickly, his voice dipping into a tone of earnest reassurance. He took a single, small step forward, negating the distance she had created. The card now hovered in the space between them, a tangible bridge. "That's the thing. It's grant-funded. Completely free for candidates. No fees, ever." He leaned in slightly, a man sharing a fortunate secret. "We're just trying to do some good. Help people get a foothold. I saw you two and thought… well, maybe it's a bit of serendipity. A parent looking out for their kid deserves a break, doesn't she?"
He saw the shift in her. The words completely free and serendipity worked like a chemical agent on her defences. He watched the calculation play out in her eyes—the long bus rides, the overtime that never seemed to be enough, the quiet hope for a job that didn't leave her feet aching. The desperate, vulnerable desire for a ladder to appear. Her guarded posture softened, just a fraction.
"Why… that's…" she trailed off, then found her voice. "That's remarkably kind. Are you sure?"
"Positive. It's what we're there for." He extended the card another inch. "Please."
Hesitantly, Taiwo reached out and took it. Their fingers brushed; his were ice-cold. She looked down at the card. It was understated. The Ladder Project. A local phone number. A name: Devon Black, Community Outreach.
"Just give that number a call," he instructed, his voice warm with quiet satisfaction. "Ask for me, Devon Black. We'll set up a chat, no pressure. Just see if there's a fit. All of it, free of charge." He said the last three words slowly, clearly and deliberately.
"Thank you, Mr Black," Taiwo said, the genuine gratitude now seeping into her voice, diluting her earlier caution. She tucked the card carefully into the inner zipper compartment of her handbag, a place for important things. "Really. This is… unexpected."
"The pleasure is mine," Devon Black replied, his hands retreating into his pockets. "Good luck to you both."
Taiwo looked down at her daughter, giving her a slight squeeze. "Elizabeth? What do we say?"
Elizabeth, who had been only marginally following this strange adult interaction, glanced up. "Thank you," she recited, her voice a monotone of perfected childhood manners, utterly devoid of the weight her mother felt.
"You are most welcome, young lady!" Devon Black said. And here, his voice changed. It lifted, became brighter, almost cartoonishly cheerful. It was the voice of a friendly uncle or a morning TV host. He gave a small, silly wave, fingers wiggling.
The performance was complete. He took a step back, yielding the space. With a final, respectful nod to Taiwo, he turned, pulled open the heavy Burger King door, and vanished inside with another electronic chime.
Taiwo exhaled, a breath she seemed to have been holding for minutes. "Right," she said, her normal voice returning. "Let's go and eat this before I regain my senses and change my mind." She guided Elizabeth across the darkened asphalt toward a decade-old silver sedan. It was clean but bore the honest scars of its age—a dent in the rear passenger door, cloudy headlamps. Taiwo unlocked it with a solid, metallic clunk that echoed in the quiet.
As she pulled out of the lot, the headlights carving tunnels through the night, she felt a strange, fluttering sensation in her chest. Not quite joy, but the keen, sharp-edged cousin of it: hope. She glanced at her bag on the passenger seat floor. Inside, in the zippered pocket, a cream-colored card felt like a talisman. Devon Black. The Ladder Project. A chance meeting. A bit of good fortune, stumbled upon in a fast-food car park. The universe, for once, is throwing a small, unexpected bone.
Inside the Burger King, Devon Black did not approach the counter. He stood just inside the door, watching through the glass as the sedan's taillights shrank to pinpricks and were swallowed by the river of traffic on the main road. His benign, polite expression dissolved, leaving his face neutral, empty. A thin, cold smile touched his lips, there and gone like a shadow.
Taiwo Osi drove home, planning a tomorrow that suddenly looked a little brighter, a little easier.
Devon Black turned and pushed back out into the night, merging with the shadows from which he'd come. His kind of fortune was not found. It was manufactured. His kind of ladder didn't lead up; it led down, into a basement only he had the key for.