The music swallowed them, bass thumping like Lagos' heartbeat. Kwame spun Amara, his moves smooth as a Lagbaja solo. Zara twirled with Aisha, laughter bubbling like palm wine.
In the VIP, Riyanah waited, tech team hacking away. "Leverage is good," she said, eyes gleaming.
Amara's phone buzzed. Anonymous text: "Meet me at Makoko docks. Alone."
Kwame read it, jaw cliked. "Trap."
Zara frowned. "But we need that proof."
Aisha popped up. "I'll go. Market won't expect me."
Kwame handed her a tracker. "Be careful. We'll watch."
Aisha vanished into the night. The others waited, tension thick as harmattan fog.
An hour passed. Aisha texted: "Got proof. Coming in hot."
Suddenly, Makoko's lights flickered. A boat sped into the lagoon...