Maulana slides his attention to Ishant with a slow and measured glare, heavy with menace, to remind him that he is barely wanted in this space. His question, however, had to be acknowledged. “I’m the civilian head of the HOVA. The Ras, though most simply call my title ‘the R.’ The bagirwa of the Niyabinghi has asked me to oversee this operation.”

“Just so I understand,” Ishant continues, “you head the Buhari clan, are a member not just of the Ijo but its security council, and you are the command for the HOVA. That’s a lot of power concentrated under one person.”

“You are correct. All matters of security fall under my purview. The times send us along a dangerous path. Know this: I only care about the safety and security of Muungano.”

Maulana has risen quickly among the ranks of the Ijo, but that wasn’t out of selfish pursuit of power or ambition. His wisdom is trusted. The Buhari name carries weight for their obsession with duty and sacrifice. You had learned much from him and admired him. You pray those fond memories don’t cloud your judgment.

“Maulana.” You step closer and risk sincere openness. “I have never for a moment doubted that.”

A slight curl flashes across Maulana’s lips. Only for a moment, but for him, it’s a nova burst. “In that spirit, I would like to make you an offer, Amachi.”

“What sort of offer?” You hold a breath without realizing. Only your gut tensing, like a part of you bracing for an inevitable punch, signals the fear that has dogged every parsed syllable of this conversation. Even without looking, you know Ishant positions himself to defend you against Niyabinghi swarming you from behind. Your question hangs in the air for an extra heartbeat.

“To join the Niyabinghi.” Maulana enjoys the flush from your face once the words sink in. You reach your hand out to steady yourself. Your legs threaten to buckle, and you wish you could sit down, but he begins to pace about the center of the room. “Think of it this way: If you have any lingering doubts about me or my motives, you’d be close enough to directly monitor me. More importantly, you’d have the resources of the Niyabinghi behind you as you continue your investigation.”

“Why me?” You wonder if you have taken a blow to the head or suffer from any aftereffects of whatever sickened Selamault and took Xola.

“Because I, too, want to get to the bottom of Xola’s death. And make the responsible parties pay…” For a moment, Maulana’s stern façade cracks to reveal the mix of pain and anger swirling underneath. It’s like staring into the heart of a storm.

“May I think on it?”