remaining twenty minutes until I neede

in my mind refus

, his breathing is getting wors

art s

ly felt like a cruel joke, a punch to the g

y small. It wouldn't cover the full prescription, but maybe, just maybe the pharmacist would le

shoved my sketchbook inside, as if carr

eant a

ght even consider giving out medicine on credit was in Ikoyi. A world far away from our side. Ikoyi, is where the streetlig

rn in it. As we moved deeper into the wealthier district, the air grew cleaner, the buildings taller, the roads smoothe

laring speakers. No hawkers. Just the steady murmur of distant generators and the fa

s too fast, my jacket too thin. I kept my eyes down, foc

hen it h

ng with another. Not hard, just s

catching myself on a lamppost. I

beautifully tailored suit. His phone was to his e

en I s

f metal, out of place in the polished perfection of this w

A flash

Metallic, with intricate geometric etching across its s

t be an important

at's going, the man was a

st instinct, drilled into me since childhood, was t

ould that

op? Would h

e even

rned; what w

undred naira to her name and a baby brother wheezing i

rive in my hand, which is no

t data. It felt

ven...

ack to the alley the man had disappeared down. This was my one shot; it might be a way to get money for Emek

t heavier than its size should allow, and I couldn't stop wondering: What was on it?

oked back. One bump, o

enough to get Emeka's inhaler, pay off a little rent, maybe buy food for a few days?

ise: "Zara, honesty weighs more tha

st. It wasn't mine. I hadn't earned it. But what g

n't looked like someone who lost things. Not by accident. Not without consequences. That tailored s

s tracked? What if h

meka's asthma got worse? What if I mis

sink into the motion, let the rhythm of Lagos lull me into a tired daze. But not tonight. All I coul

ile. I cleaned on autopilot, moving from desk to desk like a ghost, the hum of air

hts. It didn't look like anything I'd ever seen up close. Sleek. Metallic. A geometric

hed toward the n

ck. A name. A co

it could open or close. Plugging it in here, in an office that

he decision solidifyin

it. I wouldn't i

anks. Just to do the right thing. To remind myself I still could. Th

aybe returning it

escape. But to somethi

o

it could all go wrong. One wrong look, one suspicious word, and I'd be the one accused of the

to do th

to be somewhere. Online. Or maybe In a paper. Or On billboard, maybe. He had been in Ikoyi, on that well-kept street lin

ay to the faintest whisper of purple. The molue was quieter now, filled with early rise

ly. Mama's shea butter, Emeka's cough syrup, the faint soap from our evening bathwater reused o

smudges and faded ink. My favorite drawing, Crown of Thorns, stared up at me. dark, jagged lines spiraling into a crown that

A tiny sliver of metal hid

adn't asked for. A responsibility I d

g and falling in small, shallow breaths. He was the reason. Th

broad daylight. me, a cleaner with scraped-together bus fare, trying to

on that drive. But I kn

s a s

ri

ance to cross a line I w