I had expected the night to shield my departure. Instead, Mairo's silhouette greeted me as I emerged from my hut, her figure outlined by moonlight. She didn't start at my appearance – me, painted like a demon of night, weapons strapped to my near-naked body. She just sat there, grinding something in her small mortar.

"I wondered when you would try to leave," she said softly, not looking up from her work. "Though I didn't expect you to paint yourself like death itself."

"Mairo..." I began, but she cut me off.

"The sleeping herbs you took from my stores – you could have asked." Now she looked up, her eyes finding mine in the darkness. "I would have given them freely."

"I didn't want to involve you in this."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "Involve me? Rimi is in there fighting for every breath. I am already involved." She stood, approaching me with slow, deliberate steps. "You're going to Ibezim's compound."

It wasn't a question. I nodded anyway.

"For the antidote." Another statement. "Which means you know who did this."

"Knowing is dangerous," I said quietly. "It's better if—"

"If I stay ignorant? While you paint yourself like a shadow and walk into death's arms?" She was close now, close enough that I could see the tears she was fighting back. "You trained hard with Amadi, yes, but I've heard terrible stories about Ibezim's guards..."

"I have to try." My voice came out rougher than intended. "Rimi has three days left. Maybe less."

Mairo's hand reached up, hesitating just short of touching my charcoal-covered chest. "And what about you? What happens if Ibezim's guards catch the shadow that comes stealing into their master's compound?"

"Then you'll have one less mouth to feed," I attempted a weak joke.

"Don't." The word came out sharp as a blade. "Don't make light of your death. Not to me."

Something shifted in the air between us, heavy with words unsaid. Her hand finally made contact with my chest, leaving a small handprint in the drying charcoal paste.

"I should have protected her better," she whispered. "Rimi. I should have..."

"This isn't your fault."

"Nor is it yours alone to fix." She stepped back, returning to her mortar. From it, she pulled out a small raffia pouch. "Here. Crush these leaves between your teeth if you're wounded. They'll slow any bleeding and dull the pain. They taste foul, but they might buy you enough time to escape if..."

I took the pouch, our fingers brushing. "Thank you."

"Just..." she paused, struggling with words. "Just come back. Both the antidote and you. I can't... I can't lose you both."

The weight of her words hung between us. I wanted to say something – about feelings that had been growing since that night on the hill, about futures that might never be, about promises I wasn't sure I could keep. Instead, I simply nodded.

"Watch over her," I said finally, stepping into the darkness. "I'll return before the second moonrise."

"You better," her voice followed me into the night. "Or I'll follow you into the land of the dead just to scold you myself."

I didn't look back – couldn't look back – but I carried the warmth of her touch with me as I melted into the shadows, moving like the death spirit I was painted to represent. Ahead lay Ibezim's compound, and somewhere within, an antidote that might cost my life to obtain.

Behind me, in my small hut, two women I had grown to love waited – one fighting for breath, the other fighting back tears. And for them, I would become what I had sworn never to be again: a Shadow of Onoka.

Ozo Ibezim's compound loomed ahead, torches blazing against the dark, their light barely piercing through the thick charcoal paste that concealed my skin. I moved silently, slipping through shadows.

The rear wall stood tall, smooth, rising higher than a mango tree, but my knives made easy work of it. I climbed swiftly, my muscles taut, my breath steady. As I reached the top, I paused, crouching low against the wall. Below, the compound stretched out in a grid-like pattern: clusters of small huts forming two rows, intersected by narrow pathways. Guards patrolled these routes, their torches flickering in the night breeze, while at the center, the main building loomed – my destination, and where Nkili would be.

From my perch in the tree, I counted twenty guards – ten more than usual, likely added due to the ongoing war with the neighboring village. Ibezim was nothing if not paranoid.

I waited until the two guards below passed beneath my branch, their spears glinting in the torchlight. Their footsteps fell in perfect rhythm – trained soldiers, not common vigilantes. This wouldn't be like disarming drunken raiders back in Onoka.

One. Two. Three.

I dropped. My knees bent to absorb the sound as I landed between them. Before the first guard could turn, my elbow found the soft spot behind his ear – a strike taught to assassins before they learned to write. He crumpled without a sound. The second guard managed half a turn before my knee struck the nerve cluster in his lower back. As he fell, I caught his spear with one hand and his body with the other, lowering him silently to the ground.

Two down. Eighteen to go.

I dragged their bodies into the shadows of a storage hut, then pressed myself against its wall. Ahead lay a courtyard, bathed in torchlight from all sides. Three guards stood watch at its edges, while another pair patrolled its perimeter. Beyond them stood the main house – and somewhere inside, Nkili.

The sound of Rimi's wet coughing echoed in my memory. Three days left.

A guard approached my position, yawning. The war preparations had everyone working double shifts. As he passed the storage hut, I reached out, one hand covering his mouth while the other found the pressure point at his neck. His eyes rolled back before he could struggle.

Three down.

I moved like water between patches of shadow, my uncle's training flowing back into muscle memory. Another guard went down near the chicken coop, then one by the smaller shrine. Each unconscious body hidden, each position noted in case I needed a quick escape route.

The compound proved trickier. The remaining guards stood too far apart to take down quietly, and their positions offered clear sightlines to each other. But there, near the main house's entrance, I spotted it – a clay pot of palm wine, likely left out for the guards' refreshment.

I smiled grimly. Even the best-trained soldiers had their weaknesses.

From my satchel, I pulled a small packet of sleeping herbs – originally meant for treating the restless sick, now repurposed. The guards never saw the shadow that darted forward to empty the packet into their wine. As I stepped back into the shadows, I watched, heart pounding, wondering if they would notice the faint scent of the herbs or the subtle change in the wine's color. If even one of them stayed alert, my mission would end before it began.

Moments stretched like hours as I waited, counting heartbeats. One by one, the guards succumbed to sudden drowsiness, slumping at their posts. Those still alert moved to check on their companions, only to decide a sip of palm wine might help them understand what was affecting their fellows.

Soon, only two guards remained by the main house's entrance, now alert and suspicious of the wine. I couldn't wait any longer. I emerged from the shadows, letting them spot me – a calculated risk.

They raised their spears, but I was already moving. A flip brought me between them, my hands finding vital points on their necks. They collapsed in unison, their spears clattering against the packed earth.

The sound echoed in the courtyard. I held my breath, listening for any sign that the household had been alerted. Nothing but cricket song.

Before me stood the entrance to the main house. Somewhere inside was Nkili, and with her, the only hope of saving Rimi's life. But I knew the real challenge was just beginning – guards were one thing, but nobles... nobles were serpents in their own nests.

I took a deep breath, checked my knives, and slipped inside, the wooden door creaking slightly under my touch. A faint rustle echoed from somewhere deep within the building, as if someone was waiting – or watching. The night was far from over, and neither was the danger that lay ahead.

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