The rain in Lagos didn’t wash things clean; it just made the grime slicker.

Elias unbolted the heavy steel door of the warehouse, the metal groaning in protest against the humidity. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old paper and dust—the smell of secrets that didn’t want to be found. He wasn’t supposed to be here. The logistics manifest said this unit was empty, cleared out three months ago by a shell company in the Caymans.

But the light under the crack of the door told a different story.

“You’re late,” a voice said from the shadows.

Elias froze. He didn’t reach for the gun tucked into his waistband. Not yet. He squinted into the gloom, where rows of server racks hummed with a low, electric vibration. A man was sitting on a plastic crate in the center of the aisle, illuminated only by the blue glow of a laptop screen.

“I didn’t think anyone was expecting me,” Elias said, keeping his voice steady. He took a step forward, his boots squelching on the damp concrete. “Especially not a ghost.”

The man chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. He turned the laptop around. On the screen was a live feed of the Lagos port authority database. Containers were being flagged, rerouted, and vanished in real-time. It was a digital magic trick worth millions.

“We aren’t ghosts, Elias. We’re the mechanics. We keep the engine running while the city sleeps.” The man tapped a key. “And you have something that belongs to us.”

Elias felt the weight of the hard drive in his jacket pocket. It contained the ledger—the unredacted list of every bribe paid at the port in the last ten years. It was enough to bring down the government, or get Elias killed before sunrise.

“I’m just a courier,” Elias lied.

“We’re all just couriers,” the man replied, standing up. He was taller than he looked sitting down, wearing a suit that cost more than Elias made in a year. “But some packages are too heavy to carry alone. The timer is ticking, Elias. You have twenty minutes to decide. Hand it over, or we see how well you can swim with concrete shoes.”

Elias checked his watch. 00:25. The window was closing.

“Twenty minutes?” Elias smiled, backing toward the door. “I only need five.”

He hit the light switch, plunging the warehouse into darkness. As the man shouted, Elias didn’t run for the door. He ran for the servers. If they wanted a show, he was about to give them fireworks.