He frowned. “What is it?”
“Voice notes.”
His eyes widened.
“I recorded some conversations. Not everything. But enough.”
He stared at the device in her hand.
“You recorded her?”
Bissy nodded, fear and resolve mixing in her face. “I was scared. But I knew one day I might need it.”
He took the phone carefully, as if it were breakable in a deeper sense than plastic and wires.
“This could save my life.”
Bissy gave a sad, small nod.
“Or end mine.”
Before he could answer, footsteps sounded outside.
Both of them froze.
Then the door handle rattled.
And a voice he knew too well floated through the wood.
“Bissy?”
Amaka.
Sweet. Light. Curious.
Bissy went pale.
“Bissy,” Amaka called again. “Are you there?”
Chief Kletchi looked around instinctively.
There was nowhere to hide.
The knock came again, louder this time.
“Open the door.”
Bissy’s hand hovered over the handle. Her eyes found his in silent panic.
What do I do?
Chief Kletchi pressed himself into the darkest corner and nodded once.
Bissy opened the door.
Amaka stood there in her silk robe, smiling softly.
“There you are,” she said. “I was looking for you.”
Then her eyes moved past Bissy.
Into the room.
Toward the corner.
Toward him.
For one terrible second, time froze.
Amaka’s smile held for a moment too long. Not because it was genuine—but because her mind had not yet caught up with what she was seeing.
Chief Kletchi Okafor.
Home.
