The rhythmic thunk of axe against wood pulled Nze from sleep like a fish being reeled to surface. He exhaled into his pillow, squeezed his eyes against consciousness, then finally surrendered to morning. The window to his left offered a perfect view of his uncle's domain – a weathered shed that looked like it had grown out of the ground itself.

Eli was already deep into his morning ritual, his bare chest slick with sweat despite the morning chill. His ebony skin was a map of scars and dark hair, muscles moving like ropes under dark leather as he swept the axe down again and again. The wood split with sounds like gunshots in the quiet morning. 8:34 AM, and already the day felt ancient.

Here was another difference between St. Leo and Lagos – in Lagos, the only wood anyone needed came pre-cut from lumber yards. But Eli, it seemed, preferred to harvest his own from the forest that loomed beyond his shed. There was something almost ceremonial about the way he worked, each swing of the axe precise, deliberate, as if he were splitting more than just wood.

After rinsing the night from his mouth, Nze padded downstairs, his feet remembering which stairs would creak before he had to learn the hard way. The house felt hollow without Aunt Naomi's presence, like a church between services. Thursday – she would be at the convent now, trading one sacred space for another.

On the dining table, morning light fell across a plate of fried eggs and slices of bread, beside it a folded note in Aunt Naomi's precise handwriting:

Hey Buddy,

Hot water in the kettle for your coffee – you'll find sachets on the second shelf (the blue tin).
Containers in the fridge have enough food to last till Sunday. Just warm when hungry.

See you Sunday, sweetest heart.
Aunty N
xx

P.S. Don't let your uncle skip lunch. He forgets when he's working.

The 'xx' was written with extra care, as if she wanted to make sure he felt the hugs they represented. Outside, another piece of wood surrendered to Eli's axe, the sound echoing through the morning like a church bell calling faithful to prayer.

The morning had swallowed the fog like it had never existed, leaving behind a clarity that felt almost artificial after last night's murk. The sun had muscled its way through the clouds, warming the damp earth and raising steam from the wood piles.

The chainsaw's snarl ripped through the air as Nze neared the shed, each whine vibrating through the quiet morning. Without turning, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, Eli shouted over the mechanical snarl: "Towel! On the rocker!"

Nze retrieved the threadbare towel from the ancient rocking chair that looked like it had been waiting by the door since his great-grandfather's time. As he handed it over, Eli killed the chainsaw, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

"Thanks," Eli grunted, wiping his face and neck. He looked at the towel for a moment, then at Nze. "Your mother made this, you know. Home economics class. Never could sew straight lines." His laugh was rough, like wood being sanded. "Used to drive your grandmother crazy."

Nze ran his fingers over the uneven stitching at the edge. "She never told me she sewed."

"Lot of things she probably never told you." Eli caught himself, cleared his throat. "Sleep okay? House makes weird noises at night. Old pipes."

"Yeah, fine." Nze watched as his uncle methodically checked the chainsaw's teeth. "The fog cleared up fast."

"Always does." Eli's hands stilled on the machine. "Sometimes." He straightened up suddenly, as if coming to a decision. "Need to head into town. Pick up some tools. Supplies." He glanced at Nze, trying for casual and missing by miles. "Could use an extra pair of hands, if you're not busy."

The invitation hung in the air between them like sawdust.

"Sure," Nze said. "Got nothing else to do."

"Right." Eli nodded, relief flickering across his face for reasons Nze couldn't quite understand. "Let me just..." He gestured vaguely at his bare chest, then looked up at the sun, checking its position like he was calculating something. "We should go soon. Before..." He stopped again, that familiar tension returning to his jaw. "Before it gets too hot."

But the way he said it made Nze wonder if heat was really what his uncle was worried about.

Daylight painted St. Leo in entirely different colors, revealing truths the night had hidden. Their neighborhood clung to the hill's summit like a crown, and behind it, the forest stood like a dark wall – a mass of ancient trees so dense they seemed to swallow sunlight whole. From up here, Nze could see how the town spread below them like a rumpled blanket, houses and shops growing smaller as the hill descended.

The Hilux groaned as they wound their way down the serpentine road, Bright Chimezie's highlife guitars competing with the engine's complaints. Eli worked his chewing stick methodically, occasionally leaning out to spit a stream of brown juice that disappeared into the passing brush. The morning air smelled of eucalyptus and something else, something older.

"Your aunt mentions school," Eli said finally, breaking the rhythm of music and engine noise. He wasn't looking at Nze, but at the road ahead, as if the conversation required all his concentration. "Says you talked about it."

"Yeah." Nze watched another curve of road unspool before them. "Thinking maybe Holy Cross College of Education. The entrance exam seems...manageable."

Eli spat again, then nodded slowly. "Closer than UNN. Safer too." He caught himself. "The roads, I mean. These hills get tricky in the rainy season."

"That's what I thought," Nze said, though road safety hadn't been on his mind at all.

"Holy Cross is good. Strong walls." Eli drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Built in colonial times. Solid foundation." He paused, then added, "Your mother almost went there, before..." He let the sentence die, replaced it with: "They've got a good teaching program. Mathematics, you said?"

"I didn't say."

"No?" Eli frowned. "Must've been your aunt then. Or maybe..." He trailed off, focusing intently on a curve they both knew didn't require such concentration.

The radio crackled suddenly, Bright Chimezie's voice dissolving into static before clearing again. Eli reached for it quickly, almost nervously, adjusting the dial until the music returned.

"Teaching's good," he said, as if there had been no interruption. "Respectable. Plus, the college has..." He hesitated again, choosing his words carefully. "Good protection. From distractions."

"What kind of distractions?"

But Eli was already changing the subject, pointing to a weather-beaten sign ahead. "Town's just round this bend. Better make a list of what you need. School supplies and such. If you're serious about Holy Cross."

The way he said it made it sound less like a suggestion and more like a prayer.

St. Leo's township basked in the morning sun like a cat stretching after a long sleep. The light hit the old colonial buildings at angles that turned their weathered walls to gold, while market awnings in faded reds and blues cast geometric shadows across the narrow streets. Unlike the previous night's ghost town, the morning had drawn people out like moths to flame, though they moved with the unhurried pace of a place where time felt more suggestion than law.

The Hilux's tires crackled over gravel as they pulled into the lot of 'Ebuka Tools and Parts,' a place cobbled together from spare parts and old timber, stubbornly standing since before independence. The hand-painted sign above the door was sun-bleached but still proud.

As Nze stepped down from the truck, he saw her—

She was leaning against the wall, her curly buzz cut catching the sunlight, turning platinum to gold. Metal winked from her ears – a constellation of studs that climbed from lobe to cartilage – and a single silver stud caught the light from her left nostril. Her skin had the warm undertone of mixed heritage, like coffee with just the right amount of cream, and she wore it with the confidence of someone who had never wished to be anything else.

Her baggy jeans and crop top left a strip of skin exposed at her midriff, tan and smooth, with a few small tattoos scattered there like secrets meant to be almost hidden. She stood in the center of her group – other teenagers dressed in the same style of carefully curated rebellion – but somehow she made them all look like background characters in her story.

When her eyes met his, they were the color of honey held up to sunlight. The slight upturn of her chin, the slow spread of her smile – it was the kind of moment that feels scripted in the best possible way, like the universe had been setting up this scene since before either of them were born.

"Arinze!" Eli's voice cut through the moment like an axe through wood. "Stop standing there like a lost goat. Come on!"

But as he turned to follow his uncle, Nze caught one last glimpse of her. She was still watching him, that smile now curved with amusement, as if she knew something he didn't. As if she was waiting for him to figure it out.

Nze let out a breath, already exhausted by the infinite list of things he was supposed to somehow figure out.

Inside 'Ebuka Tools and Parts', the air smelled of metal, motor oil, and decades of accumulated hardware store wisdom. Sunlight filtered through dusty windows in solid beams, making galaxies of the floating dust motes.

"If it isn't the wood dibia himself!" Ebuka's voice boomed through the store. He was a barrel-chested man with laugh lines deep as timber grain around his eyes, though something about his smile seemed carefully measured. "Finally decided to replace that ancient chainsaw?"

"That chainsaw will outlive us both," Eli shot back, the familiar banter falling into place like well-worn gears. "Besides, your new ones are probably made of tin foil and prayers."

They laughed, but there was an undertone to it, like two people speaking in code. Eli jerked his thumb toward Nze. "This is my nephew."

Ebuka's eyebrows shot up. "Rebecca's boy?" His eyes locked onto Nze's face with an intensity that felt almost physical. "Ah yes, those eyes. Your mother's eyes exactly."

"Good morning, sir," Nze managed, trying not to fidget under the scrutiny.

"Just like his mother," Eli said, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to shift the air in the room. "Always polite to a fault."

"Well, some faults are worth having," Ebuka replied, still studying Nze. "Better than other kinds of faults we've seen, eh, Eli?"

Nze took advantage of their cryptic exchange to edge toward the window, stretching casually to peer out at the street. The girl was still there with her friends, now perched on a low wall. The sun seemed to follow her movements like a spotlight.

"...the new saw blades are in the back," Ebuka was saying, but his voice had dropped lower. "The special ones you asked about."

"Good," Eli muttered. "After last night's fog..."

Nze strained to hear more while pretending to examine a display of measuring tapes, but the girl outside had just thrown her head back in laughter at something, the sound carrying faintly through the glass. The morning light caught her throat, the curve of her jaw...

"Arinze!" Eli's voice snapped like a rubber band. "Come help with these boxes."

When Nze turned back, both men were watching him with expressions that seemed to war between concern and something darker. Ebuka crossed himself quickly – an unexpected gesture from a hardware store owner – while Eli's jaw worked silently, grinding thoughts into dust.

"Young man," Ebuka said carefully, "how are you finding St. Leo? Different from Lagos, yes?"

"It's..." Nze glanced out the window again, but the girl and her friends had vanished as completely as last night's fog, leaving only empty sunshine in their wake.

"It's interesting," he finished lamely.

"Interesting," Ebuka repeated, sharing a look with Eli that seemed to carry paragraphs of unspoken meaning. "Yes, St. Leo can be very... interesting indeed."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚

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