The apartment on Victoria Island felt too quiet for someone who was supposed to drop an EP in eight hours. Tunde sat on his balcony with a cup of tea that had gone cold twenty minutes ago, watching the Lagos morning move below him. He was twenty. The youngest of the five. The baby of the group that had become his family Frosh at twenty-two, Faye at twenty-one, Amara at twenty, Kazeem at twenty-four, and then him, the one everyone assumed was older because of how he carried himself.
