Chapter One

The headache was the first thing Iniola felt. It was a dull throb behind her eyes, the kind you get from sleeping in a weird position on a long car ride. She remembered the heat of the road from Ibadan and the endless stretches of green passing the window as they crossed into Osun State. Then, nothing.

When she finally opened her eyes, she wasn't in a car anymore. She was lying on a bed in a room that felt... off.

Iniola sat up and stretched, looking for her reflection in a small mirror on the wall. At least her braids still looked decent. She stepped toward the door, expecting a hallway, but what she found was a maze. The building was massive. It wasn't just a house; it was a series of interconnected corridors that seemed to stretch on forever. It reminded her of those old sci-fi movies where the spaceship is an entire city.

She walked for a bit, passing people in the halls. That’s when the "weird" started to kick in.

A girl walked past her wearing a trendy pair of flowy palazzo pants and a crop top—totally normal. But right behind her was an older woman draped in a cloth that looked like it was woven from dried tall grass and soft animal hide. It wasn't raggedy, though. It was actually beautiful, shimmering in a way that looked expensive.

Iniola shook her head. My father’s people are stylish, but they are definitely strange, she thought.

She finally found a window. Outside, the view was even more confusing. A thick, dark forest surrounded the entire village like a wall. There was no road in sight, no gate, just a sea of ancient trees. Yet, inside the building complex, she passed a large archway with a sign that simply read: FOREST.

"Mama, what did you put me in?" she whispered. Her mother had insisted on this. Three years, Iniola. Your father’s people need to know you. She had wanted the bright lights of Lagos, not a village that felt like it was hiding from the map.

By the time she found her way to her first nursing class, she was already exhausted. She took a seat in the back, smoothing out her skirt.

A woman stepped to the front of the room. She looked like she had swallowed a ruler—back straight, face set in a permanent frown. "I am Miss Tade," she announced. Her voice clipped the air. "We begin with the calendar. It is the foundation of everything we do here."

Iniola suppressed a smirk. A nursing college teaching the calendar? She leaned back, amused. Maybe the village was behind on more than just fashion.

Miss Tade looked around the room. "What day is it?"

Iniola didn't even wait to be called on. She gave a little mock-clap of her hands, the way she’d seen girls do when they were being cheeky back home. "It’s February 18th, Ma," she said, her voice dripping with "obvious" energy.

The room went dead silent.

Miss Tade didn't get angry. Instead, she mimicked Iniola’s clap—three slow, rhythmic strikes of her palms. The sound echoed uncomfortably. The teacher turned to a small girl in the front row, who couldn't have been more than sixteen.

"Correct her," Miss Tade commanded.

The girl stood up, her voice steady. "It is a Monday ,18th day of the month. The She-Moon day. It is the time when healing is at its second-best core. The one in eighteen signifies the beauty of first things, and the eight means double-zero, signifying beauty."

Iniola’s jaw literally dropped. She looked around, expecting someone to burst out laughing, but everyone was nodding as if the girl had just recited the gospel.

A cold pit formed in her stomach. She instinctively reached for her pocket, her fingers searching for the familiar weight of her smartphone. Her hand came up empty.

Ha! she thought, her heart starting to race. I no get phone to call my mommy. Where did they drop me?