They arrive at her bedside but stand in such a way that they block her view of the door. Hardly a mistake on their part. Certainly not an innocuous maneuver. They know what they’re doing.

Ify remains alert, even as she settles deeper into the bed and adopts a pose of comfort. She fights to keep the wry grin from her face.

First the police who came for Grace, now this. They always seem to come in twos. Grace! Ify’s heart rate spikes at the thought of her missing assistant. A man’s voice, however, snatches her back to the present.

“Madame Diallo,” the first officer says in a deep, melodic voice. “We are pleased to see your recovery proceeding.”

Ify arches an eyebrow at him, as though to say, Get on with it.

“Your body was recovered at a police station in Kaduna State, the site of the terrorist attack. Your business at the police station in Zaria Local Government Area?”

“Excuse me?”

“We would like to know what you were doing at the Zaria Local Government Area police station at the time of the explosion.”

Ify snorts and looks away, pretending to be annoyed. Explosion. Terrorist attack. A few more puzzle pieces fit into place. “I was speaking with a desk attendant.”

“We have attempted to recover the logs containing your conversation, but the material was damaged during the initial explosion. The contents of the desk attendant’s braincase have proven to be . . . irretrievable.”

“He’s dead, then.” The weight of what Ify has survived begins to seep into her, begins to make her feel heavier in her bed. Questions swarm. Was she a target? What did this have to do with the little girl? The little girl she was looking for, the one who had called her Ify, who had been so sure that Ify was who she had been looking for. Even though Ify had never seen her before in her entire life. “And you could not recover the information from my logs?”

The first officer speaks again. “You are not sufficiently cyberized for such an operation. And your Augments were damaged in the blast.”

The second rushes in, more polite. “We would have needed your permission to access the logs, madame. Were we able to recover them in the first place.”

After a beat, Ify says, “Certainly.”

“Now,” continues the first, “your business at the police station in Zaria Local Government Area?”

She searches for an answer until one lands squarely in her lap. “Part of my investigation.”

When she doesn’t continue, they stare, both of them, with unrelenting expressionlessness.