The city breathed in shadows,
its veins pulsing with secrets and sin.
Ekama Pepple moved through the dark,
a lioness among vultures,
eyes sharp, heart scarred,
hands steady even when grief clawed at her chest.
A year had passed since the Sunday of blood-
Femi, Kike, the priest, the innocents-
all snuffed out in the hollow of a church,
their screams still echoing in the alleyways of memory.
The Butcher had vanished,
leaving nothing but whispers and fear.
She did not curse the world.
She did not falter.
She remembered every face, every betrayal, every drop of crimson spilled.
Justice, she knew, was a long shadow-
Slow. Patient. Inevitable.