Chapter 8: Bookstore Nights and Lagos Shadows

But my head just empty. I no fit give Ifedayo any reaction.

I dey try squeeze smile, but my chest just dey flat. Pikin dey look me like say e expect magic.

Him burning look just calm down.

That time, somebody rush come from staircase—a middle-aged man, wear native, half head taller than Ifedayo, but he bow well before the boy, talk say, “Young master, car dey wait downstairs. You go late for class.”

E dey call am "young master" like person wey dey train small oba for throne. Na so status dey talk for Lagos.

Ifedayo lower him eyelashes, disappointment flash for him eyes. Then he turn to go.

I catch that look—small sorrow for inside small boy body. Sometimes, even rich pikin get wahala.

But as he turn, he pause, frown small.

He look the glass window for hallway. “You suppose take care of your wound.”

As e talk am, e be like say e dey talk to himself too. Maybe e no sabi how to ask for help.

I follow him eye, see the rough bandage for my arm and right leg.

Since I reach here, system no give me any special power. The small money I get just dey manage food and rent, hospital no even enter the matter.

Ifedayo don waka.

I look my blurry face for the glass.

I see the way the light dey scatter, my shadow nor even full. I just sigh.