Iza's phone buzzed in the quiet of her room, cutting through the faint hum of the overhead fan. She glanced at the screen, an unknown number flashing insistently. For a moment, she just stared at it, debating whether to answer. She wasn't exactly in the habit of picking up calls from strangers. But it was late, and something about the timing made her stomach tighten. What if—no, it couldn't be. Could it? 

Her fingers hovered before she scrambled to answer, fumbling and nearly dropping the phone in the process. "Hello?" she said, her voice sharper than she intended. 

For a moment, there was silence. A crackle on the line, faint and hollow, before a hesitant female voice finally spoke. 

"Iza?" 

"Who's this?" she asked, her suspicion immediate. 

"Umm... it's Bee," the voice said, stumbling awkwardly over her words. "Bumblebee. From—" 

"I know who you are," Iza cut in, a little more curtly than necessary. "Hi." 

"Hi." 

An uncomfortable pause. Iza could hear her own breathing, uneven and quick, as if her body knew what was coming before her mind could catch up. 

"Is something wrong?" she asked, though the question felt redundant. Of course, something was wrong. Bee didn't strike her as the type to make late-night social calls. 

"Umm... kinda." Bee's voice wavered, like she wasn't sure how to say what she needed to say. "I don't know who else to call, but, uh, seeing as you're the closest person he hangs with, I figured you'd be the best bet." 

Iza froze. He.

"Who are you talking about?" she asked, though her heart had already leapt to its conclusion. A silent, desperate prayer filled her chest. Not Nze. Please, not Nze.

Bee hesitated, and in that hesitation, Iza found her answer. 

"It's Nze," Bee admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Have you seen him?" 

"I..." Iza's voice faltered, and she cleared her throat, trying to sound steadier than she felt. "Have I seen him? No, I— Wait. Have you? Is he okay?" 

Bee sighed, a sound that sent a chill skittering up Iza's spine. "He's with me, but... he's messed up real bad. He says he only wants to talk to you." 

"What?" Iza's voice cracked. "Me?" 

"Yeah. Look, he's really, really fucked up right now, Iza." 

Iza's chest tightened, her heart a wild drumbeat in her ears. A thousand scenarios played out in her mind, each one darker than the last. 

It could be a trap. 

The thought came sharp and unbidden. Iza had never spoken to Bee before. How had she even gotten her number? This whole thing reeked of something dangerous, something she should steer clear of. 

But then there was Nze. The image of his stupid, lopsided grin, his habit of messing up her perfectly aligned pencils just to annoy her, the way he always seemed to understand her without her having to say a word. 

How could she not go? She was in love with him. 

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice quiet but resolute. 

Bee hesitated again, then said, "The old beer factory. On the outskirts of town." 

Iza's stomach dropped. That place was a relic, a hollowed-out husk of a building that stood as a testament to bad business decisions and worse times. It was the kind of place you didn't go to unless you were up to no good—or desperate. 

"I'll be there in thirty," she said, already standing and reaching for her shoes. 

"Okay," Bee replied, her voice softer now. "Be careful." 

The line went dead, and Iza stared at her phone, her thoughts a blur of panic and dread. She needed to go. She needed to see him. 

But she wasn't stupid. 

She quickly dialed her aunt Oby, her fingers trembling. Oby picked up on the second ring. 

"Sweetheart?" Oby's voice was calm, soothing, the kind of voice that made you believe everything would be okay, even when it wouldn't. 

"Aunty," Iza began, her words spilling out in a rush. "It's Nze. Bee just called me. She said he's in trouble, that he's at the old beer factory, and I need to go, but I don't know—" 

"Stop," Oby said firmly, cutting through her ramble. "You're not going anywhere without me." 

"Aunty, I—" 

"No." Oby's tone left no room for argument. "I'll come pick you up. We'll go together. You hear me?" 

Iza exhaled shakily, relief and frustration mixing in her chest. "Okay." 

"Good," Oby said. "Stay put. I'll be there in ten minutes." 

As Iza hung up, her hands still trembling, she felt a strange mixture of dread and determination. Whatever was waiting for her at that factory, she would face it. For Nze. For the boy she loved and couldn't let go of. Imprint or not.

But a small, insistent voice in the back of her mind whispered a single, terrifying question: What if it's already too late?

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Oby's baby Jeep rumbled into the eerie, abandoned car park of the old factory. The headlights illuminated a scattering of decaying vehicles, their windows fogged and cracked, their bodies consumed by rust. The factory loomed in the distance, its silhouette stark and foreboding against the hazy night sky. The thick fog clung to the air like a suffocating shroud, making it hard to see beyond a few meters.

As Oby cut the engine, the sound of the night rushed in: the distant hum of crickets, the low groan of wind through the factory's broken windows, and the soft creak of metal swaying somewhere out of sight.

"This place is a ghost town," Oby muttered, pulling her coat tighter against the chill.

Iza, clutching a flashlight with white-knuckled fingers, looked at the looming structure. "It's been abandoned for years. The mayor used to own it until—"

"I know the story," Oby interrupted, her voice curt. "Arrested for money laundering. All his dirty secrets buried in this place." She shook her head, eyeing the factory warily. "What I don't understand is why Nze would come here. If he ran away from home, he could've come to stay with me. He knows that."

Iza stayed silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't want to judge Nze. She just wanted to make sure he was safe.

"Let's go," Oby said, unlocking the Jeep's doors. "Stay close."

Together, they stepped into the thick fog, their breaths visible in the cold air. The factory loomed closer with every step, its walls stained and crumbling, its windows gaping like empty eye sockets. Iza's flashlight beam danced across the rusted doors, the faded company logo barely visible under layers of grime.

Oby tested the door handle, her lips pursed. It groaned in protest as it opened slightly, the sound reverberating through the still night. She glanced at Iza. "Stay behind me."

They stepped inside, the heavy door creaking shut behind them. The air was cold and damp, the faint scent of mold and rust filling their noses. The factory floor stretched out before them, empty and dark, save for the pale beam of Iza's flashlight cutting through the gloom.

"Bee?" Iza called out tentatively, her voice echoing faintly. "Nze?"

Silence.

They moved further in, their footsteps crunching against broken glass and debris scattered across the floor. The walls were lined with defunct machinery, their surfaces covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

"They're not here," Oby said, her tone sharp with suspicion. She swept her own flashlight across the room, her movements brisk and purposeful. "Something about this feels off. We should—"

Before she could finish, a loud metallic clang rang out. The doors slammed shut behind them with a force that made the floor tremble.

Iza spun around, her heart racing. "What—"

"Quiet!" Oby snapped, pulling her closer.

They both stared as the door's locks melted like wax, the metal pooling on the ground and steaming. A low hum filled the air, and suddenly, the factory was flooded with light—harsh, white light that flickered unnaturally, casting long, jagged shadows.

"Aunty," Iza whispered, clutching her aunt's arm.

"Stay calm," Oby said, though her voice was taut, her eyes darting around the space.

Out of the shadows, two figures emerged. Amaka and Chinasa. Their expressions were cold, almost lifeless, and their eyes glinted with something that wasn't entirely human.

"What the hell?" Oby muttered, instinctively stepping in front of Iza.

From an elevated platform above them, a figure stepped into the light, her presence commanding and unnerving. Nyamekye. Her movements were deliberate, her face cruel, like a cat toying with its prey.

"Obioma," Nyamekye said, her voice echoing with an otherworldly resonance. "You've always been so terrible at picking sides."

Oby stiffened, her jaw tightening. "Nyamekye."

"No one says no to me," Nyamekye continued, a chilling smile spreading across her lips, "and lives to tell the story."

Iza's breath hitched as the room seemed to close in around them. The lights flickered, and the air felt thick, almost suffocating. Oby's hand tightened around Iza's arm, a silent promise that no matter what came next, she would protect her.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚

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