He let out another sharp groan accompanied by a agonizing shriek. Instantly, a thick clot of blood spurted forcefully from the back of his head, his mouth, and his nose, splashing directly onto the front of the window as his body became drenched in pooling blood. One of the men ordered, "Go and find the baby." Hearing this, the accomplice spun around quickly and headed downstairs, marching straight out of the house toward the backyard.
Deen quietly let out a breath he had been holding back, cautiously pulling his body away from the perimeter of the house's gate. He desperately wanted to make a move to escape, but he was terrified of what might unfold next; yet, he knew with absolute certainty that it was armed robbers who had infiltrated the residence.
He moved directly to the rear of the house, halting to examine the exact area where he estimated Moon had been hurled from above. Looking up, he calculated the height to be equivalent to at least a three- to four-story building from the point she was thrown to where she was supposed to land. He began scouring the ground, but to his utter bewilderment, it was as if a mirage had occurred—there was no Moon, and not a single trace of her presence. Staring at the sheer drop in profound shock, he knew that anyone hurled or falling from such a height would ordinarily be broken beyond recognition. Yet, astonishingly, there wasn't a shred of evidence to indicate she had ever hit the ground.
Filled with shock and bewilderment, the accomplice slipped back inside the house. Upon entering the main parlor, he found the leader. The house had been completely ransacked; cash and documents were scattered everywhere in utter chaos, though curiously, not a single Naira note had actually been stolen. The accomplice reported, "Boss, the girl is gone. I searched everywhere I could think of, but she’s not there."
In a sudden panic, the leader snapped, "What! Do you even know what you're saying? After all the immense trouble we went through, Moon has vanished?!"
The accomplice replied respectfully, "Boss, I swear to Allah she isn't out there. I was completely shocked myself; there isn't even a mark to show anyone fell in that area."
Wiping sweat from his brow, the leader muttered, "This means that besides us, there is someone else actively hunting Moon. Who could this be? Is he after the exact same thing we are trying to extract from her? Or did someone step in to rescue her?"
Another gang member reached down, picking up a thick bundle of cash, and said, "Boss, we have a problem here. Let me grab some money from this pile before we leave. The Alhaji back at base might refuse to pay us."
The leader flashed him a lethal, menacing glare before snapping, "Drop that money right now before I blow a bullet through your skull." Trembling with fear, the man quickly dropped the bundle back down. The leader checked his wristwatch and commanded, "Guys, let's move. Dawn is fast approaching."
They hurriedly readjusted the cloths masking their faces and swiftly exited the house. Behind them, Iliya's corpse was still pooling blood. The gang headed straight down an alleyway where they had hidden their vehicles. The moment they piled inside, they sped off, hitting the main highway leading out of the Nassarawa district in Kano.
Slowly, Deen turned and made his way back to his small security guard quarters. The moment he stepped inside, he pulled off his cap and reached up to untie the small ribbon holding his hair back. As it unraveled, a stunning, incredibly thick head of hair—resembling the rich, lustrous hair typical of Indians—cascaded over his head and down his face. The hair fell in dense, perfectly coiled waves, looking as though it had been professionally styled at a salon. He tossed his head back, shaking the heavy waves behind his shoulders, revealing his strikingly beautiful, clear white eyes.
Biting his lip, he pulled out his smartphone and switched on his mobile data. He went straight to Instagram and opened his direct messages with Nana Khadii. A faint, half-hearted smile played on his lips before he tapped on a voice note she had sent. Her voice played through the speaker: "Yeah! But it's a beautiful job, though. Where exactly is this project located? I need it."
With practiced, swift movements on his screen, he typed out a quick reply: "I knew that. It's a great job, but the project is based overseas. You can hand it over to your mentors so they can evaluate your execution. Let me know." The moment he sent the message, he went offline, powered off the phone, and slipped it safely beneath his pillow.
He then picked up his smaller, basic phone and dialed a number. It was picked up on the very first ring. Deen immediately winced, shutting his eyes tightly at the sudden barrage of shouting and roaring playing through the receiver. From the other end of the line, a voice barked, "Ohh yaaa! Talk to me, I'm right in the middle of an operation here!"
Deen smirked slightly, exhaling a long breath before stating flatly, "I found the baby."
On the other end, the man instantly abandoned whatever he was doing. The rustle of him hurriedly pulling on his trousers could be heard as he exclaimed in sheer ecstasy and delight, "What! How?! Man, I am incredibly thrilled! Brother, how did you manage to find her?"
Deen closed his eyes slowly. He turned his head toward the corner of the room where Moon lay curled up, tightly hugging her teddy bear, fast asleep. Averting his eyes, he let out a quiet sigh and remarked, "Her childhood is far more far-gone than I initially expected."
The man dismissed his concern immediately: "That's nothing to worry about. Hurry up, find a flight, and get back here tomorrow."
Deen bit his lip again. He ran his hand down his jawline, smoothing over his sideburns and beard without uttering a single word, and abruptly hung up. The moment he disconnected, another call flashed on the screen. Seeing an unfamiliar number, he answered it.
A voice speaking in a distinct Southern Nigerian accent came through the line: "Saif, I've already received word of what happened over there, and I am absolutely certain that Moon is in your custody. Name whatever price you want, and I promise you, I will deliver it."
Deen’s eyes widened slightly in sheer astonishment. He marvelled at how incredibly fast the news had reached the South when dawn hadn't even broken yet. Clearly, the number of powerful players watching Moon's every move was staggering. Who among them should he even hand her over to?
Sensing his prolonged silence, the caller pressed on: "Saif, I'm listening to you. Speak to me."
Deen took a breath and responded flatly, "I will think about that." He cut the call.
The moment he hung up, another call instantly broke through. It was his boss—the man he had just spoken to moments ago. The moment Deen answered, the man yelled furiously, "I know exactly what kind of person you are; you have absolutely no loyalty or integrity! I swear to Allah, if you dare double-cross me and hand Moon over to anyone else, your mother will have to give birth to another son to replace you! The massive fortunes I have invested in you will not go down the drain. Secure a flight and return tomorrow. Don't expect me to send a private jet for you; I know exactly how many rivals are watching me right now!"
Deen sharply spun around at a sudden rustling sound behind him. Moon had sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. Before he could say a word, the first call to Fajr prayer echoed from the neighborhood mosque.
After wiping her eyes, Moon looked up at him, flashing a beautiful, neat row of white teeth. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Deen moved with lightning speed. He pulled her close, clamped his hand firmly over her mouth, and spoke into his phone to cut off his boss: "No! Traveling tomorrow carries a massive risk. People will suspect I had a hand in the family's demise. Just wait, I've got your back." He immediately terminated the call.
He looked down at Moon, who was contentedly sucking on his palm, her saliva pooling over his skin. To Moon, everything currently unfolding felt like a game. For a long time, she had been entirely isolated. She had never been allowed to attend a regular school; her parents managed absolutely everything for her, and no one was ever permitted to see her, let alone know she was with them, even during trips to the market. Because she was so sheltered, finding a warm, gentle hand like Deen’s inside her mouth felt natural—she began to suck on it out of pure habit, just as her Dad used to do with her.
Deen closed his eyes, holding his position until the Assalatu (prayer call) concluded. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her while his hand remained resting in her mouth. In a low, hushed whisper, he said, "Take your mouth off my hand now."
Hearing his voice, she pulled away. Without another word, Deen turned to head outside. Moon quickly darted forward, grabbing his hand and pulling it up toward her ear. Deen paused, staring down at her. Realizing that time was slipping away for congregational prayer, he knelt all the way down to her height.
Placing her tiny lips directly against his ear, she whispered, "Don't you dare tell Dad I'm with you. He will take me away, and I don't want that. I want to stay with you; I hate staying at home."
Deen remained silent for a moment before standing up. She gripped him tightly once more, pleading, "Please."
He gave her a firm nod of reassurance. Inhaling deeply, he instructed, "And you, under no circumstances are you to step outside, not even for a second. I will be back."
She turned around, picked up her teddy bear, sat down, and began playing with it, chanting nonsensically: "I am a Muslim child, I will never see him for my money for Thailand for daddy was with my neighbor."
Stepping out of the quarters, Deen hurried over to the tap, performed his ablutions (wudhu), and headed straight to the mosque. He sat quietly through the prayers until the congregation concluded.
Suddenly, a man burst through the entrance of the mosque in a state of sheer panic, shouting: "Innalillahi wa'inna ilaihir raji'un (Surely to Allah we belong and to Him we shall return)! I have just been informed that armed men stormed the house of our new neighbor; they have brutally killed him and his wife! As for his little girl, she is nowhere to be found!"
Alhaji Murtala dropped his phone instantly, springing to his feet so fast he nearly stumbled. "What! My neighbor has been killed?! Subhanallah, when did all this happen?"
The informant replied, "I swear to Allah, it happened late last night. While I was lying in bed, I kept hearing distant gunshots and the terrified screams of people. From that moment on, I couldn't sleep a wink out of sheer terror. I checked my doors countless times because I was terrified that once they were done with his house, they would march down to mine! Oh Lord, what kind of calamity is this? To make matters worse, they say no one really knew the man well enough to contact his extended family. What are we going to do? The police have already arrived on the scene."
Alhaji Murtala muttered, "What is the latest news regarding Moon? He was a close friend of mine; in fact, I was the one who leased the house to him since he wasn't a permanent resident here."
Another congregant sighed, "May Allah have mercy on his soul, he was an exceptionally good and upright man. Let us head over there immediately to assist with the funeral arrangements before time slips away."
Deep anxiety was written all over Alhaji Murtala's face. His mind was entirely consumed by one burning question: Where is Moon? Did the attackers take her away, was she killed too, or is she still alive somewhere? A flood of unanswered questions raced through his head.
The entire congregation filed out of the masjid, heading toward Moon’s family compound. Deen, who was sitting quietly with a Qur'an gripped tightly in his hands, simply traced them with a cold, knowing look. Once the mosque cleared out, he stood up and made his way outside, walking straight back toward the compound he was hired to guard.
Seeing that the compound was completely deserted, he slipped quietly back into his security room. The moment Moon saw him, she sprang to her feet, rushed toward him, and announced, "I want to pray Sallah."
Ignoring her completely, he walked over to his mattress and lay down, utterly exhausted after a sleepless night. The moment he lay down, she crawled over to his side and said, "Dad, I want chocolate."
Deen’s eyes snapped open at the word "Dad." He remained silent, but she quickly rolled right over his body, settling herself directly onto his chest, pleading, "I'm so hungry, please, Dad."
With his eyes half-closed, he reached up, cradled her chin, and gently parted her lips. Slipping a small piece of candy into her mouth, he whispered, "Oh yaaa... take a sweet..."

🗺️ Plot Summary & Context Updates

📦 Key Plot Developments

• The Assassination & Disappearance: A ruthless gang assassinates a wealthy new resident (referred to by neighbors as a friend of Alhaji Murtala) and his wife in the Nassarawa area of Kano. Their daughter, Moon, is thrown from a third- or four-story window by her mother to save her, but her body miraculously vanishes from the drop zone.
• The Motive: The attackers ransack the house specifically looking for documents or assets related to Moon. They callously leave bundles of cash behind under strict orders from their leader, proving the hit was contracted by a wealthy elite ("Alhaji") for a specific asset connected to the little girl.
• The Double Agent (Deen/Saif): Deen, who poses as a local security guard, is actually a highly sophisticated, undercover operative named Saif. He intercepted Moon at the drop zone before the killers could look for her.
• A Web of Factions: Multiple powerful factions across Nigeria (including his direct handler/boss and an elite buyer from Southern Nigeria) are tracking Moon. They are willing to pay massive fortunes or use lethal force against Saif's family to secure her.

• Moon's Trauma and Age: Moon is a heavily sheltered, deeply traumatized child who exhibits childlike regressive behaviors (repeating nursery rhymes, sucking on fingers, asking for chocolate) and mistakes Deen for her father ("Dad") as a psychological coping mechanism.

  👥 Updated Character Profiles

• Deen / Saif: A complex protagonist operating under a deep cover as a simple house guard. Beneath his unassuming uniform and cap lies an elite operative with striking features, long lustrous hair, and connections to high-level digital networks (handling overseas architectural or design portfolios on Instagram with contacts like Nana Khadii). He is highly calculating, fiercely independent, and currently playing multiple criminal factions against each other to determine Moon's fate.

• Moon: The highly sought-after child of the assassinated wealthy couple. She has been kept in absolute isolation from society, never attending school or going to public markets. Following the trauma of her parents' murder, she attaches herself completely to Deen for safety, begging him not to return her to her "Dad" (likely referring to the broader family network or handlers) because she prefers his protection.

  📊 Narrative & Literary Analysis

  1. The Mask of Marginalization (The Security Guard Persona)

  The text employs a classic subversion of class dynamics. In Nigerian urban architecture, the Mai Gadi (security guard) occupying a small gatehouse room is typically viewed as an invisible, disenfranchised working-class figure. Saif utilizes this exact societal blind spot as the perfect camouflage. By hiding his striking physical features under a cap and operating out of a tiny mattress-bound room, he evades the surveillance of intelligence networks that are scanning international flights and private jets for him.

  2. Psychological Regression as a Shield against Trauma

  Moon’s dialogue and behavior provide a chilling look into childhood trauma. Having witnessed or experienced a violent home invasion and a literal fall from a building, her brain completely blocks out the horror by clinging to comforting, familiar habits. Sucking on Deen’s hand, calling him "Dad," and demanding chocolate are survival mechanisms. Her bizarre English chant ("I am a Muslim child, I will never see him for my money...") functions as a psychological mantra—a string of fragmented, memorized phrases used to self-soothe in an unfamiliar environment.

  3. The Commodification of the Innocent

  The narrative structure mirrors the dark themes established in the previous chapter regarding the Zadeen family. Moon is treated not as a human child, but as an exotic commodity or an encrypted key to a massive fortune. The immediate influx of calls from Southern Nigeria to Kano before the morning prayer highlights a terrifying truth: the tracking of this child is global, digitized, and completely devoid of human empathy. Whether she is being hunted for a literal organ match (like Jannah's kalbim) or an immense financial inheritance, she is the ultimate prize in a high-stakes "Billionaires' War."