Morning came.
But it didn't feel like morning.
No calm.
No normal.
Just silence.
Heavy.
Unnatural.
The house felt smaller.
Like the walls had moved closer overnight.
Shango sat at the edge of his bed.
Still in the same clothes.
He hadn't slept.
Couldn't.
Every time he closed his eyes—
He saw it.
That thing.
Reaching for him.
Calling him something he didn't understand.
"No mistakes this time…"
His jaw tightened.
"What even am I…?"
The words came out low.
Barely a whisper.
No answer came.
Only silence.
A knock came at his door.
Normal this time.
Familiar.
"Shango?" his mother's voice called softly.
He froze.
For a moment—
He didn't respond.
Then:
"Yeah."
The door opened slightly.
She stepped in.
Her eyes found him immediately.
Not suspicious.
Concerned.
"You didn't come out this morning," she said."I thought you were still sleeping."
Shango forced a small nod.
"Yeah… just tired."
She studied him for a moment.
Longer than usual.
Mothers notice things.
Even the things you don't say.
"You should eat something," she said quietly."You've barely touched anything since yesterday."
"I will."
A pause.
She didn't move.
Instead—
She stepped closer.
Placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
Warm.
Real.
"You're not in trouble, are you?"
The question hit harder than anything else.
Shango looked away.
"…No."
Not a lie.
But not the truth either.
Another pause.
Then she nodded slowly.
"Alright," she said."But if something's wrong… you tell me."
Shango didn't answer.
Because he didn't know how to.
She gave his shoulder a light squeeze.
Then turned.
And left.
The door closed behind her.
Quiet.
Shango exhaled slowly.
His chest felt tight.
Not from fear.
From something else.
Guilt.
"You're going to leave."
Nkiru's voice came from the window.
She hadn't moved much since last night.
Watching.
Always watching.
Shango didn't look at her.
"…Yeah."
It wasn't hesitation.
It was acceptance.
"They'll come again," he said."And next time…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Nkiru understood.
"They won't stop," she said.
A pause.
"And it won't just be that thing."
Shango finally looked at her.
"You mean the cultivators."
She shook her head.
"Them too."
Then—
"Others."
The word lingered.
Unclear.
But heavy.
Shango stood.
Walked to the window.
Looked outside.
The street was normal.
Too normal.
People moving.
Cars passing.
Voices in the distance.
Like nothing had changed.
But he could feel it.
Underneath.
Something had.
"They're watching," he said quietly.
Nkiru nodded.
"Yes."
A pause.
"They'll keep watching until they understand."
Shango's jaw tightened.
"And if they don't?"
Nkiru's answer was immediate.
"They won't wait forever."
Silence.
Then—
"They'll act."
Shango looked down at his hands.
Still normal.
Still his.
But no longer safe.
"…If I stay," he said slowly,"They'll come here."
Not a question.
A fact.
Nkiru didn't respond.
She didn't need to.
Another voice echoed in his mind.
Not from last night.
From earlier.
From the screen.
From the crowd.
From the fear.
"…that wasn't cultivation…"
Shango closed his eyes briefly.
Then opened them.
Clear.
Resolved.
"I'm leaving."
The words felt heavy.
Final.
Nkiru watched him carefully.
"When?"
Shango didn't hesitate.
"Soon."
A pause.
"Before they decide to stop watching."
Silence settled again.
But this time—
It wasn't uncertain.
It was decided.
Downstairs—
His parents moved around the house.
Unaware.
Talking quietly.
Living normally.
Shango stood at the top of the stairs.
Listening.
Memorizing.
Every sound.
Every voice.
Every small detail.
Like it might be the last time.
His mother laughed softly at something.
His father responded.
Normal.
Simple.
Safe.
Shango's hand tightened slightly on the railing.
"…I can't tell them."
Nkiru stood behind him.
"No."
Not cruel.
Not cold.
Just honest.
"If you do," she continued,"They become part of it."
Shango closed his eyes briefly.
Then nodded.
He understood.
Far away—
"They've gone quiet."
"They're thinking."
A pause.
"Good."
Another voice spoke.
"Will he move?"
Silence lingered.
Then—
"He will."
No doubt.
No hesitation.
"Prepare."
Back in the house—
Shango turned away from the stairs.
Back toward his room.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
But he didn't stop.
Because stopping wasn't an option anymore.
That night—
He packed lightly.
Not much.
Just what he could carry.
What he could leave behind…
Was far heavier.
He paused at the doorway of his room.
Looked back once.
At everything.
At nothing.
Then he stepped out.
And quietly closed the door behind him.