Chapter 3 The Knife in the Bloodline

Her name was Amahle Nwachukwu.

But in certain circles - darker, quieter ones - she was known only as Midnight Echo.

She moved through the corridor of the compound like she was born there - because she was.

Just like Zara.

Only difference was:

Zara was raised to rule it.

Amahle was raised to protect it... and, if necessary, erase those who betrayed it.

And tonight, her blood demanded both.

---

She stood before the General now - stone-still, hands behind her back, dark eyes unreadable.

"You trained her well," he said, pouring whisky into crystal. "Too well, maybe."

Amahle didn't reply. That was their arrangement - no questions, no praise. Only orders.

"You know the target?"

"Zara," she said calmly. No venom. Just a name. A mission.

"And her companion?"

"Darius Ekene. Former strike op. Record says dead."

"He's not."

"I know," Amahle replied. "That's why I packed the anti-ghost rounds."

The General chuckled - but only barely. "You'll need more than bullets. Zara knows your habits."

Amahle met his gaze.

> "But I know hers better."

---

In her quarters, Amahle packed light:

A matte-black Beretta with custom silencer

Throwing knives laced with paralyzing venom (a Nwachukwu family recipe)

Two burner phones, both encrypted

A necklace that looked like jewelry but held a lockpick and poison tooth

A worn photograph, folded into a matchbox, of two girls laughing in a garden before everything turned to politics

Zara had always smiled brighter.

Amahle had always stood behind her.

Now she would aim for the heart - and not miss.

---

As night crept across Lagos, Amahle boarded a bike, lifted her hood, and vanished into the city like smoke swallowed by streetlights.

She didn't chase.

She tracked.

Because she wasn't hunting a stranger.

She was hunting family.

---

Flashback - Eleven Years Ago.

A muddy training field outside the compound.

Zara, panting, clutching a wooden staff.

Amahle, already bloodied, smirking.

"You think you're tougher just because you cry louder?"

"I don't cry," Zara hissed.

"Your eyes are doing something dramatic then."

Their trainer watched with mild amusement. "Fight like you hate each other."

"We don't," Zara said.

Amahle turned, serious now.

> "One day we might have to."

---

Back to now.

Amahle crouched beside a warehouse wall, fingertip pressed to the brick.

Warm.

Recently used.

And inside?

Two heartbeats.

One steady, precise. Darius.

The other... erratic. Emotional. Zara.

She whispered into her comms.

"I have them."

A pause.

"Do I kill her?"

The General's voice came through - cold, measured.

"No."

Amahle exhaled slowly.

Then he added, "Not yet."

---

Inside the warehouse, Zara suddenly sat upright from the cot, eyes scanning the ceiling.

"What is it?" Darius asked from across the room.

She didn't answer at first.

Then:

"I used to share a room with someone who never made a sound when she moved.

We used to sneak into the kitchens and steal mangoes in the middle of the night.

But every time... I knew she was behind me."

Darius cocked his head. "What are you saying?"

Zara looked toward the window.

> "She's here."