“I know my country,” Ify growls. The sound surprises her. Then she realizes how clenched her fists have been, how tight her jaw feels. There’s anger in her. “What do you know of Nigeria?”

“You left and I stayed.”

Ify lunges forward, hauling her chair off the ground. Instantly, two guards are on her, twisting her arms behind her and holding her in place. Despite her best efforts, they force her back down. “How dare you! You know nothing of this country!”

Xifeng considers her nails while Ify thrashes in the grip of her captors. “You’re breaking the law! You’re a criminal! Nothing more! When they catch you, they will bury you under the jail. You have no right to meddle in our affairs.”

“Our?” The look she gives Ify fills Ify’s stomach with fear. “Our affairs?” Xifeng rises from her chair and walks to Ify so their faces are inches apart. “I know what you did in Enugu.”

Ify grows slack. “What?” It comes out as little more than a whisper.

Xifeng walks away, hands clasped behind her back, then makes a slow circuit of the room, as though to acknowledge every one of her soldiers. At the entrance to the room, that girl appears. That synth who moved so much like Onyii. Xifeng pauses in front of her, then, palming the back of her head, draws her near so that they both face Ify. The girl’s expression is inscrutable.

“What are you talking about?” But Ify knows. Even as she can’t bear to hear it, she knows.