His gaze shifted weakly and landed on Mustafa.
For one brief moment, something passed between them.
Recognition.
Confusion.
Gratitude.
Then his eyes closed again.
Zainab exhaled. “That’s a good sign.”
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A low, calm voice said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Zainab stiffened.
Mustafa saw fear flash across her face.
“Who is this?” she demanded.
A soft chuckle.
“You know exactly who this is.”
Kunle.
The taller man from the forest.
“You took something that doesn’t belong to you,” he said. “That was a mistake.”
“He’s a human being,” Zainab said coldly. “Not something you can bury and forget.”
“This is not about morality,” Kunle replied. “This is about power. Turn around. Put him back where you found him. Walk away, and maybe I’ll forget about you.”
“Or what?” Zainab challenged.
A pause.
“Or you’ll disappear,” Kunle said simply. “Just like he was supposed to.”
The line went dead.
The driver’s face turned pale.
“What was that?”
Zainab lowered the phone.
“They’re not done.”
“What do we do?” Mustafa whispered.
Zainab looked at him.
“We finish what we started.”
At the hospital, nurses rushed Chief Oladipo inside. Zainab gave a rapid report: trauma, possible suffocation, low oxygen.
Mustafa stood near the emergency entrance, suddenly empty. The fear, the running, the rain—all of it crashed over him.
A security guard approached, frowning.
“You can’t stand here. Move along.”
“I came with them,” Mustafa said. “I helped—”
“This is not a place for street boys,” the guard snapped.
The words stung more than they should have.
Then Zainab stepped back outside.
“Stop,” she said sharply. “He’s with me.”
The guard backed away.
Zainab looked at Mustafa.
“Don’t go anywhere. I need you here.”
Inside, however, something was wrong.
Two senior doctors stood near the emergency room, tense but hesitant.
“Why isn’t he being treated?” Zainab asked.
“We’re waiting for authorization,” one said.
“Authorization?” she repeated. “He’s dying.”
The doctor lowered his voice.
“There has already been a call. Someone claiming to represent the Bologan family says he must be transferred to a private facility.”
Zainab’s stomach dropped.
Kunle.
“That is a lie,” she said. “He was buried alive. Someone tried to kill him.”
The doctors exchanged uneasy looks.
“Do you understand what you’re saying?” one asked. “You’re accusing powerful people of attempted murder.”
“I’m stating facts.”
“We’ve been instructed to wait.”
Zainab felt anger rise inside her.
“And if he dies while you wait?”
No one answered.
She turned and entered the emergency room.
Chief Oladipo lay connected to machines, his breathing uneven.
Zainab checked his vitals and noticed something strange in the medication record.
The dosage was too strong.
Too dangerous.
Her heart skipped.
Someone inside the hospital was helping them.
“Stop all current medication,” she ordered.
A nurse stared. “What?”
“Now.”
Outside, Mustafa saw two men in clean uniforms pushing a stretcher.
A private ambulance crew.
They had come to take him.
He ran into the emergency room.
“They’re here!” he shouted. “They’re going to take him!”
A man entered with official papers.
“We’re here for Mr. Bologan. Transfer authorization. Signed and approved.”
“He’s not stable,” Zainab said.
“That is not your decision.”
Staff began preparing to move the bed.
Mustafa stepped forward.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
His voice shook, but he kept speaking.
“He can’t go. They tried to kill him. They’ll do it again.”
The man frowned. “Who is this?”
“A witness,” Zainab said. “And this is not just a medical case. This is attempted murder.”
Then a cold voice came from the doorway.
“And I’m ready to end it.”
Kunle Bologan stepped inside.
Polished. Calm. Controlled.
The same man from the forest, now dressed in power.
“You must be the nurse,” he said smoothly. “Zainab.”
“How do you know my name?” she asked.
“You’ve made yourself noticeable.”
His eyes shifted to Mustafa.
“A witness,” he said quietly.
Zainab stepped in front of the boy.
“He’s a child. Leave him out of this.”
Kunle smiled, pulled out a thick bundle of cash, and held it toward Mustafa.
“You’ve had a difficult night. Take this. Forget what you think you saw.”
Mustafa stared at the money.
Food.
Shelter.
Safety.
Everything he had ever needed.
His fingers twitched.
“Mustafa,” Zainab said gently. “Look at me.”
