Chapter 2: Testing the Market

Lagos at dawn. The drums punched through the walls of Adé's threadbare tent like a heartbeat, jolting him awake. He bolted upright, fingers clamped around the cold lump of the Chip, knuckles white from the grip. Beside him, the Filter Core pulsed with a faint warmth—the first proof that the Covenant had taken root, and the only thing keeping him alive in this place.

Zola's words about "the missing faction" still echoed in his ears, a splinter lodged deep in his brain. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of rain-soaked red earth. Today, he had to move. He couldn't survive on fear alone. He needed to turn this unknown force into something real—food on the table, a roof over his head.

In the shadow of a narrow alley, Adé leaned against the wall and undid the drawstring of his hidden pouch. The Chip was silent as ever, but the glow on the Filter Core had dimmed a shade. He shut his eyes, trying to feel the Covenant's progress. A sting shot up from the depths of his skull—blurred, sharp, wrong. Zola's warning came flooding back. The edges of his memories were going translucent.

He reached for what he'd eaten that morning. Nothing solid. The image was washed out, all color drained, just a fuzzy outline where a meal should've been. The cost. It was clear now for the first time. His memories were being siphoned away, bit by bit. He cracked the Chip open. A new ring of etching had appeared on the surface, like some kind of countdown timer. The cold hit him in the chest, but what cut deeper was the clarity it forced.

He needed to find the lead on Kenny. The missing agent was tangled up in the insignia on the Chip—threads of connection he could feel but not trace. Only by pulling that thread to the end could he sever the chain before it tightened further.

The street was a river of hurried bodies, faces blank or watchful. Adé ducked off the main road and slipped into the narrower warrens where scrapped metal and rotting fruit piled up in the gutters. The stench was brutal, but it was his home—his survival zone. Out here, the rules were set by the Council of Elders, and the Council of Elders was exactly the door he needed to knock on today.

His thumb traced the cold metal of the Chip in his pocket. The chill kept him sharp. Whatever came next, he had to take this step. The drums were getting louder, faster, the beat slamming like a war drum warming up for a fight. Adé straightened his collar, pulled his brim low, and walked toward the market entrance.

It was one of the few places in Lagos where order and pulse still existed. The center where danger and hope were braided so tightly you couldn't pull them apart.

Amina hesitated, her gaze bouncing between Adé and the girl, then settling on the vial, then back to the child. She nodded. "Fine. But if anything goes wrong, I'm not the one answering for it."

She gestured for the mother to administer the dose. The girl gritted her teeth and swallowed the bitter green liquid. The crowd held its breath. Amina watched the girl's pupils, the flush on her forehead. One minute. Two… Time stretched out like taffy. Right as the drums hit their crescendo, the girl's breathing smoothed. The red heat in her forehead bled away, replaced by a clean, healthy pink.

She blinked. Her voice was thin, but clear. "Water… do I have water?"

An old man glanced at the vial, a flicker of curiosity cutting through the fog in his eyes. "This color's off. Doesn't look like any regular herb." Adé smiled, deadpan. "Rain remembers every seed it touches. Good stuff doesn't need to be proven. If the fever breaks fast, it ain't cursed."

The old man muttered something under