LOOM OF THORNS のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

BECCA’S POVThe bungalow felt different now. The tension between us hadn't disappeared, but it had shifted from a frantic, physical heat into a cold, focused energy. We were no longer running; we were hunting.Josh was behind his laptop, the glow of the screen casting sharp, angular shadows across his face. I sat beside him, my own tablet open. I wasn't a coder, but I was a pattern seeker. While Josh handled the technical bypasses, I was cross-referencing the names from his father's old ledger with current NUAT staff and Ogun State political appointments."Josh, look at this," I whispered, my finger tracing a line on the screen. "The contractor who built the new five thousand capacity lecture hall—the one that’s already cracking? It’s a shell company. 'Oman & Sons.' And guess who the 'Sons' are?""The Vice-Chancellor's cousins," Josh leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek. "And the silent partner is my father’s holding firm."We didn't start with a police report. We started with

JOSH’S POVLeaving the bungalow in Elegunmefa felt like stepping onto a live wire.We didn’t take the main road. I knew the VC’s "eyes" would be watching the major parks, looking for a boy who drove a car he couldn't afford and a girl who looked like a fallen angel. Instead, we cut through the back alleys of Elegunmefa, where the streams were wide and the mud houses leaned against each other like tired old men."Wait," I hissed, pulling Becca behind a cluster of mango trees near a T-junction.A white Hilux with tinted windows—the kind used by NUAT's senior staffs—cruised slowly past the main intersection."We can't take a direct car," Becca whispered, her breath hitching. The scarf around her head felt like a noose. "What if they have scouts at the Olomore park.""We go by stages," I decided.We flagged down an okada (motorcycle) piloted by a man whose face was a map of scars and had a foul breath."Where"? He asked while eyeing us and the briefcase I was holding."Lafenwa" I answered.

JOSH’S POVThe Sapon bridge was a chaotic artery of steel and screaming engines. As the okada dropped us off near the overhead, the noise hit me like a physical blow. It was the sound of a city that didn't know how to whisper.I stood on the cracked pavement, gripping the briefcase so hard my knuckles were the color of the clay dust on my sandals. I felt out of place—a boy who belonged in air-conditioned lecture halls and luxury cars now standing in the center of Abeokuta’s loudest town. I looked with disgust at flies perching over the open gutters.Becca pulled her phone out. The screen was dusty from the trek through Idi-Ori, but the light was bright enough to show the truth: 0 New Messages. 10 Unanswered Calls (To: Mama)."She won't pick up, Josh. She at least ought to hear me out" Becca said, her voice sounding thin against the honking of a yellow keke. "She’s not just angry. She’s mourning. The Pastor told her I’m

BECCA’S POVI woke up to the sound of a rooster, but it didn't feel like the start of a new day. It felt like the continuation of a nightmare.The room was dim, the only light coming from the cracks in the mud walls. Josh was still asleep on the slim mattress, his hand still resting on the briefcase as if it were a lifebuoy.I walked to the door and stepped onto the veranda. Baba was already there, his eyes fixed on the narrow alleyway. The morning mist was thick, clinging to the rusted roofs like a wet shroud."The wind is changing, daughter," Baba said without looking at me. "Last night, the air smelled of rain and solace. This morning... it smells of secrets,whispers and troubles."I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air. I looked toward the entrance of the alley. For a second, I thought I saw a flash of light—the sun reflecting off a lens, or perhaps was it the screen of a phone?MARY’S POVThe

MARY’S POVThe air in the Ceremonial Hall was quite putrid, smelling of old books, varieties of cologne and the nervous sweat of sixty final-year students. I stood at the podium, my PowerPoint presentation projected onto the wall behind me.Topic: The Role of Modesty in Community Leadership.I had rehearsed this for weeks. My crisp sky blue shirt and black skirt was pressed, my hair was tucked neatly under a black beret, my feets adorning well polished black flats and my voice was a confident ,steady, practiced hum. I was halfway through my third slide when I noticed it—the shift.It started with a snicker from the back row. Then, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of fingers hitting phone screens.I ignored it, fixing my gaze on the lead supervisor, Dr. Johnson. "As we see in the data, leadership requires a character that is beyond reproach—"Dr. Johnson wasn't looking at my data. He was looking at his phone. His brow furrowed, and