The smoke from Broad Street still hung in the Lagos sky like a lingering ghost. Burned paper drifted through the humid air, fragments of the Circle's buried truths now set loose into the world. Yet for all the cheers, the protests, the rumbles of shifting power, there was no peace.
Not yet.
Adesuwa stood on the rooftop of an abandoned train station in Ebute Metta, her face turned toward the coast. Below her, traffic buzzed, chaotic and aimless, like the city itself was trying to find a new rhythm. Lagos was breathing again, but its lungs were full of ash.
Zuri joined her silently, arms crossed. Her shoulder bore a fresh scar from the vault battle, now hidden beneath a plain grey jacket. She didn't flinch anymore. Her eyes didn't dart. She was steel now.
"How long do we have?" Zuri asked, eyes scanning the horizon.
Adesuwa handed her a note. A fragment of paper pulled from the AI vault before the fires consumed it. Coordinates. Time stamps. A signature at the bottom.
R.A.
"Renegade Archive?" Zuri muttered.
Adesuwa nodded. "It's resurfaced."
The Renegade Archive, an offshoot of NeuroCivic's most secretive AI research. Lost years ago in the Abuja cybervault heist. Some believed it had merged with rogue neural networks, others that it had gone sentient.
But now, it was calling to them.
"We either find it before the remnants of the Circle do," Adesuwa said, "or we lose everything we've gained."
Zuri didn't blink. "Then we hunt."
In the shadows of Obalende, a new threat stirred.
Dr. Ejemi was presumed dead, buried beneath vault fire and betrayal, but death had never suited her. In a secluded hospital ward purchased under a stolen identity, she lay bandaged and breathing, watching flickering screens lined up beside her bed.
A woman stood near the window, tall and lean, with a scar like a lightning strike from temple to chin. Her name was Marra Kwan. Former MI6, current mercenary, now contracted by the Circle's surviving cell, what was left of its European arm.
"They're celebrating like they've won," Marra said, smirking. "Typical amateurs."
Ejemi coughed. "They have the files. They have the people."
"They don't have him," Marra replied.
Ejemi's blood ran cold. "You found the Iron Shepherd?"
Marra grinned. "He's already in Lagos."
Elsewhere, Yusuf stared at a screen full of error codes.
In a temporary safehouse in Surulere, the tech team worked feverishly. Reni, wearing goggles and muttering into three comm lines, looked up at him. "The Archive's signal isn't stable. It's bouncing through eight different proxies. The last ping was inside the Ikoyi Underlink. You know what that means."
"Old World tunnels," Yusuf muttered. "No surveillance. No light. No rules."
He turned to Misan, the girl once been held prisoner in the lab, now walking with quiet strength and a mind sharpened by memory.
"What do you see in the signal?"
She didn't hesitate. "Fear. And a warning."
Midnight.
The Core regrouped in a decrepit cinema on Lagos Island. The building once showed James Bond marathons, now hosts revolutionaries planning their next assault.
Tunde drew the floor plan on a whiteboard.
"The Archive is bleeding data through the old Lagos MetroRail subgrid. We'll have one shot before the whole signal goes dark."
Zuri narrowed her eyes. "Who else knows?"
Tunde hesitated. "The signal was intercepted. Twice. First, by a military-grade network based in Europe. Second... by something else. Something local."
Adesuwa clenched her fists. "He's here."
"Who?" Misan asked.
Yusuf's voice was flat. "The Iron Shepherd."
Zuri paled. "That's a myth."
"No," Adesuwa whispered. "He was the Circle's ghost. Their 'problem solver.' The one they sent when cities needed to vanish quietly."
"Then why would he stay?" Misan asked.
"Because Lagos betrayed him," Yusuf said. "And now, he's come back to burn it."
The descent into the tunnels felt like entering a grave.
The team wore tactical gear. Every corridor smelled of salt, sewage, and old grief. Spray, painted warnings lined the walls. "No light survives here." "Turn back." "He watches."
They pushed forward.
Zuri led with Adesuwa at her side. Yusuf monitored the frequency. Misan kept her eyes on her tablet, tracing the AI pulse.
"North sector ping," she whispered. "It's moving."
Then came the sound.
Feathers.
Dozens of mechanical feathers, fluttering in the dark. A low whistle. A rustle that wasn't wind.
They turned, and he was there.
Draped in a coat woven from flexible titanium threads. His face was hidden behind a birdlike mask. His gauntlets glinted with obsidian edges.
The Iron Shepherd.
He moved like a shadow, blade drawn. Yusuf fired, but the man was already gone, reappearing behind a pillar, cutting through the air with unnatural speed.
Tunde shouted, "Scatter!"
Adesuwa clashed with him, pistol drawn, deflecting steel with grit. Zuri circled, drawing a flare to disrupt his vision.
But it wasn't enough.
He was more than a killer. He was a machine tuned for silence. One by one, he struck, cutting off escape, dividing the team.
Until,
Misan stepped forward.
Holding a device.
The Archive's core signal beacon.
"Looking for this?" she said calmly.
The Iron Shepherd froze.
That hesitation was all Zuri needed.
She struck from behind, knife to wire, slicing through the armor mesh near his shoulder. Sparks flew. He roared, but not in pain.
In rage.
Adesuwa fired. Twice. The second bullet hit.
He stumbled, retreating into the shadows.
Gone.
The beacon hummed in Misan's hands.
Reni's voice came over the comm: "Signal locked. Uploading to the secure grid. We've got the Archive. Full data dump in three minutes."
Adesuwa collapsed against the wall, breathing hard. Zuri checked Yusuf's wound, a gash, but shallow. Tunde smiled through bloodied lips.
They'd done it.
Or so they thought.
Misan's eyes darkened.
"It's talking to me," she whispered.
Adesuwa moved closer. "The Archive?"
She nodded. "It's not a file. It's a voice."
"A person?"
"No," she said. "A memory. Of someone who used to be human."
Silence fell.
Above them, the city still healed.
Below, something old had awakened.
And not all wings are meant to fly.