She told Zion she was sick. Zion didn’t reply.
Lanre called once. She didn’t answer.
The silence helped her think.
She printed out the email. The one to Maro. Pinned it beside the notes. Then the photo. Then the handwritten letters.
Her room looked like a corkboard in a detective show.
She hated that it fit.
She searched again for Obscura Press. Still nothing. No website. No social pages. No mention online.
But the email address did exist.
She tried something new.
She logged in to her backup email—the one she barely uses—and sent a fake query.
Subject: Manuscript Inquiry
“Hello, I heard about Obscura Press from a classmate. I’d love to know your submission process.”
She hit send and stared at the inbox.
Then walked away.
Fifteen minutes later, her phone buzzed.
New message.
From: maro.editorial@obscura.press
“We don’t accept blind submissions. If you’d like to proceed, please use the code provided by your referral.”
Referral.
Tobi froze.
Who the hell referred her?
She scrolled through her contacts.
Her heart stopped.
One name jumped out.
She didn’t know how she forgot.
Because it was not just an old coursemate.
Oghenemaro Stevens.
Lanre’s cousin.
She remembered now. Vaguely. Zion once mentioned him in passing. Months ago. “He’s into publishing stuff,” she had said. “Kind of weird. But smart.”
Tobi ran to her journal and flipped back.
Lanre. Zion. Maro.
They were connected.
All three.
Her fingers started shaking again. But this time, it was not fear.
It was fury.
Because suddenly, she knew what to do.
She picked up her phone. Dialled Lanre.
He answered on the first ring.
“Tobi?”
“We need to talk,” she said.
Pause. “Now?”
“Yes. You and Zion. Together.”
A beat.
“Fine. Where?”
She was already grabbing her shoes.
“The back of the Arts Block.”
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