“Please,” she whispered. “Not here.”
Jerry opened his mouth, but no words came. His mind had too many doors and none of them led to safety.
Mirabel’s eyes scanned faces like she expected someone to step out from behind a pepper stall with a knife and a smile. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly, as if she was running without moving.
Then she leaned closer, voice small enough to almost vanish in the market noise.
“Jerry… don’t ask questions here. Just… take me away.”
Something in Jerry woke up, sharp and cold.
Move now.
He wrapped an arm around her, not like romance, but like a shield. He guided her through the crowd. Some women stepped back, shocked. Some followed. One woman shouted, half-laughing, half-fearful, “Awo! This one is film trick abi?”
Tundai’s eyes widened when they reached the SUV.
“Sir… that is—”
“Open the door,” Jerry said sharply.
Tundai obeyed immediately.
Mirabel climbed in quickly, pulling her headscarf lower over her face like cloth could hide the impossible. Jerry got in beside her. The door slammed, and the world outside felt distant, like a radio turned down.
Inside the SUV, there was only breathing.
Jerry stared at her. His hands were still shaking. His voice came out small, almost childish, like he was afraid the truth would disappear if he spoke too loudly.
“Mira… talk to me.”
Mirabel’s lips trembled. She looked down at her hands.
“I didn’t plan for you to see me like that,” she said softly.
