They don’t sleep that night.

Not really.

Zion crashes on Tobi’s roommate’s bed — after insisting it was “too late to be walking back” — and Lanre sits in the corner chair like some guard dog who refuses to leave.

Tobi stays awake between them, scrolling through the notes over and over until the words blur.

You’re almost here. Don’t stop now.

Almost where?

When morning comes, she’s already dressed.

Zion’s contact in admin — the clerk — has another idea.

A place.

He remembers Maro saying something about a studio “outside town.” A writing retreat or something.

So they take a cab, all three of them crammed into the backseat, silent except for the driver’s occasional muttering at potholes.

The road out of town is long, cracked in places, lined with scrubby trees.

And then the driver pulls off onto a dirt path Tobi doesn’t even remember noticing before.

At the end of it, there’s a low, concrete building.

No sign. No windows.

Just a door.

They stand there for a long moment.

Zion finally breaks the silence.

“Well. Someone knock.”

Lanre rolls his eyes and raps his knuckles hard against the wood.

The sound echoes.

Tobi’s heart pounds.

Nothing happens.

He tries again — louder.

And this time…

The door creaks open.

Inside is dim.

A single bulb swings from the ceiling, buzzing faintly.

The air smells faintly of dust, old paper, and something metallic.

Rows of desks line the room — all covered in sheets of paper.

Books stacked haphazardly in corners.

Chalk scribbles cover one wall: phrases, names, arrows.

And at the very back —

A chair.

Spun away from the desk.

Empty.

Zion exhales slowly.

“Creepy.”

Tobi takes a few cautious steps in.

Something in her chest tightens.

She runs her fingers over the closest sheet of paper.

It’s a page of… her manuscript.

Her handwriting in the margins.

Her deleted sentences.

But this isn’t her copy.

Lanre picks up another page, frowning.

“Same here.”

Every desk they check — the same.

Versions of her words.

Some pages torn. Others with fresh ink.

And at the back desk —

There’s a photo frame lying face down.

Tobi hesitates.

Then flips it over.

It’s her.

Sitting at a desk.

Head bent over a page.

Beside her — a man in a hoodie.

Same blurry face as before.

Zion leans over her shoulder.

“That’s here,” she murmurs.

“You’ve… been here before?”

Tobi shakes her head.

But she doesn’t trust herself anymore.

Lanre whistles low.

“Well. Whoever this guy is, he’s been keeping tabs on you for a while.”

Zion suddenly freezes.

Points at the wall.

There — written in thick black marker —

YOU WILL REMEMBER.

OR I WILL DO IT FOR YOU.

Beneath it:

A single word.

Scrawled and circled over and over.

Maro.

Tobi feels her knees weaken.

She grips the edge of the desk.

Because for the first time…

She wonders if she already knows everything.

And has simply chosen not to remember.