YOUR GODS.
YOUR STORY.
FINALLY.

The city breathes smoke and prayer.

Walking the Ajegunle seam, Afolabi named the things the city would forget by morning. The cracked patch on the plaza's holo-screen, where Commander Oluchi's six-petalled glyphs blazed on loop above an Ajogun breach sealed in Abuja. The empty stall down the row, dark for a week now. His own face, narrow at the temples, his mother's mouth. And the name of the woman who had sold groundnuts at that stall. A name that had been on his tongue every Friday for two years and now would not come. The vendor next door had stopped using it when he asked her what it was.

Chapter One: Smoke Over Ajegunle