The door creaks open into darkness. 

Not complete—there’s a faint blue glow, like light leaking through water. 

Tobi hesitates on the threshold. 

The air smells damp, faintly metallic, like wet iron. 

Behind her, Zion whispers, 

“Tobi…” 

But she doesn’t stop. 

She steps inside. 

The room isn’t big. 

But it feels endless. 

Every surface — walls, ceiling, even the floor — is plastered with paper. 

Notes. 

Hundreds of them. 

Some folded. 

Some pinned. 

Some streaked with red ink. 

And in the centre of it all: 

A single chair. 

Facing the wall. 

A figure sits in it, back to them. 

Still. 

Silent. 

Tobi swallows hard. 

Her voice is barely audible. 

“Maro?” 

The figure stirs. 

Slowly — painfully slowly — it turns its head. 

Tobi freezes. 

It’s him. 

The boy from the photograph. 

Older now. Paler. But unmistakable. 

His eyes find hers. 

He smiles. 

“You remembered,” he says softly. 

His voice is gentle. 

But it slices through her. 

Zion gasps behind her. 

Lanre takes a step closer. 

But Tobi doesn’t move. 

“I…” she begins, but the words collapse in her mouth. 

Maro stands now. 

Taller than she remembers. 

But somehow smaller too — like the air has been eating at him all this time. 

He gestures around the room. 

“All of this,” he murmurs. “All this time… you’ve been trying to forget me. And yet—” 

He takes a folded note from his pocket. 

Holds it out to her. 

“—you kept finding me anyway.” 

Tobi’s hand trembles as she takes it. 

She unfolds the note. 

One line. 

Welcome back, T. 

Her knees nearly give way. 

The walls around her feel closer now, the notes fluttering faintly as if breathing with her. 

And in the silence, Ifeanyi’s voice: 

“It’s your turn to remember the rest.”