Zara and Amara stood before the UBA tower, its sleek facade reflecting the city's neon lights. "Past meets future," Zara murmured, scanning the area.
Amara pointed to a hidden alley – old colonial buildings sandwiched between modern skyscrapers. Music drifted from a speakeasy door 🔥.
Inside, a saxophonist weaved a haunting melody. The Songbird – a woman with eyes like night – stepped up, her voice like honey and smoke.
She sang of Lagos' streets, of dreams and losses. Amara swayed, entrhranced. The song ended; the Songbird locked eyes with Zara. "What do you seek?"
Zara: "A deal. The Market wants you."
The Songbird smiled. "My price is a wish. Make it count."
Amara whispered, "Wish she'd sing for Lagos." The Songbird nodded.
Done. The Songbird's voice echoed through Lagos' night, free for all. The Market messaged: "Job well done. Payment awaits."
Amara turned to Zara. "What's next?"
The Songbird handed them a note: "Ask for Echo, at the old clock tower. He owes me."