Please let her go

“Excuse me—please, I’m looking for Detective Morenike,” Tessa said, almost breathless as she pushed through the swinging glass doors of the police station. The faint smell of old files and disinfectant clung to the air. It was past midnight, yet the front desk still buzzed with murmured voices, papers, and the hum of ceiling fans struggling against the Lagos humidity.

The officer at the reception desk looked up. “Madam, she’s in Interrogation Two. Who should I say ...