Chapter 02

Chapter 02

Lessons in Silence

Master Crox believed in mornings.

“Your body learns faster when the world is quiet,” he said, pacing slowly across the training floor. “Noise makes liars of the mind.”

Obrimpong Kesse stood barefoot on the polished wood, sweat already forming along his hairline. The sun had barely risen, yet his muscles burned as if the day were ending. Around him, older students moved with confidence—controlled strikes, measured breaths, eyes alert but calm.

“Again,” Master Crox commanded.

Obrimpong lowered into his stance, knees bent, spine straight. He exhaled and moved.

This time, his foot didn’t slide. His balance held.

Master Crox stopped in front of him. “You learn quickly,” he said. “But speed is not skill. Silence is.”

Obrimpong nodded, even though he didn’t fully understand. Not yet.

At school, silence meant something else entirely.

By second break, everyone was talking about the missing children. Rumors spread faster than truth—white vans, foreign men, spirits, curses. Obrimpong listened without speaking, his eyes scanning faces, exits, shadows.

“Ei, OBO,” Kojo said, dropping into the seat beside him. “You hear? They say the kidnappers wear masks.”

Obrimpong stiffened.

Kojo leaned closer. “My mum says if they catch you alone, you’re gone. Just like that.”

Before Obrimpong could respond, Kojo’s hand slid across the desk and lifted his phone.

“Hey—” Obrimpong reached for it.

Too late. Kojo grinned. “Relax. I’m just checking something.”

The bell rang. Kojo slipped the phone into his pocket and stood. “Catch me after class.”

Laughter followed him down the aisle.

Obrimpong sat frozen. He wasn’t supposed to bring the phone to school. His chest tightened—not with fear, but with something sharper. Awareness.

That evening, training was harder.

Master Crox blindfolded him.

“You rely too much on your eyes,” he said. “Close them.”

Obrimpong hesitated, then obeyed.

A sudden shove came from the left. He stumbled. Another from behind. He fell.

“Again.”

This time, Obrimpong listened—not with his ears alone, but with his whole body. Footsteps. Cloth shifting. Breath.

He moved just as the next push came and stayed standing.

Master Crox smiled faintly. “Good. Remember this feeling.”

The sun was low when Obrimpong left school the next day. The compound buzzed as usual—shouts, vendors, the clatter of trotro horns in the distance. Kojo walked ahead of him, laughing loudly with two friends. Obrimpong followed, tension coiling inside him.

They reached a quieter stretch of road. Leaving only Kojo and Obrimpong, whose houses were far ahead.

Kojo stopped.

“Here,” he said, tossing his school bag containing the phone into the air. “Come and take it.”

Before Obrimpong could step forward, a hand clamped over Kojo’s mouth.

Everything happened at once.

Black figures emerged from behind a parked van. Masks. Gloves. Precision. One grabbed Kojo. Another reached for Obrimpong.

Time slowed.

Obrimpong remembered Master Crox’s voice.

Silence.

He twisted, slipping from the grip, drove his elbow back—awkward but effective—and broke free. Someone lunged. He ducked, rolled, and ran.

“Hey!” a voice shouted. “Get him!”

He didn’t look back.

He ran until his lungs burned, until the noise of the street swallowed the sounds behind him. When he finally stopped, he was shaking—not from fear, but from disbelief.

Kojo was gone.

His phone was gone.

And no one had seen anything.