AMA OFOSUA LIEB

Scholastic Press / New York

Copyright © 2026 by Ama Ofosua Lieb

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are ­either the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to a­ ctual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data available

ISBN 978-1-5461-4746-6

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 26 27 28 29 30

Printed in India 197

First edition, May 2026

Book design by Stephanie Yang

To EliE And Kyro, My loves:
I’d Write A Million More
Stories For You. I Hope
You Love This One.
“Love never loses its way home.”
—Akan proverb
 1
Akoma Addo watched as light from a low-­hanging lamp streamed through
the hole in the palm of her right hand. She flexed her wrist, staring at the
shadow she had cast on the ceramic cup of abenkwan soup still steaming
on the ­table. With her thumb, she traced the shiny rope of scar tissue that
circled the nickel-­size gap. At the pressure, it burned as though set on fire,
and she flinched.
This had happened before. In recent days, her scar flared with heat
from the slightest touch. Akoma willed the pain away and then, gingerly,
tugged on her f­ ather’s gloves. The soft black leather welcomed her fin­gers,
and for a second, she could almost feel the warmth of his calloused hand
holding hers. A lump formed in her throat. But in that same moment,
laughter swelled about Akoma, and the singsong rhythm of voices speak-
ing Twi at Bokko’s Bistro broke the spell of her thoughts. She glanced at
her watch. It was six forty-­f ive. She had fifteen minutes left to complete her
inspection.
Akoma surveyed the room. Her eyes settled on three ­women seated
nearby. Their ­table was laid with plates of fried tilapia floating in a red stew,
plantains, and goblets of palm wine. They put an eclectic blend of West
African styles on display: bold print patterns with embroidered lace details.
One of the w
­ omen turned her delicately boned face t­ oward her companion

1
while adjusting her scarf—­a swath of blue silk that covered her hair and
fell in waves down her neck; her skin deep brown, like Akoma’s.
Smiling, Akoma lifted her cup and blew on its steamy surface. She noted
the group’s easy banter, the ways they seemed to enjoy one another: leaning
forward in laughter, raising glasses in a toast, tapping their sandaled feet in
rhythm to the highlife ­music pumping through hidden speakers.
Vibrance, vitality, fun, Akoma told herself. All believable.
She sipped her soup, staring at the other patrons. A man dining alone
watched her with curious eyes. She stared back ­until he murmured some-
thing and looked down at his meal. A sudden raucous cheer shifted her
attention to the far end of the room. A huddle of sports fans watched a
game on a holoscreen above the bar. A player had scored. The group slapped
one another on the shoulders and punched the air, hooting and hollering.
All in all, what Akoma saw satisfied her.
She was ready to declare the scene all set when she glimpsed motion from
the corner of her eye. She turned. A server stumbled between ­tables, eyes
locked on a distant point, an empty plate balanced in his hand. Akoma tight-
ened her grip on her cup in dread. This ­can’t be happening, she thought as
the man’s body flickered between solid and shadow. With a lurch, he came
to a stop. Confusion creased his features. He tried several times to move
again but remained rooted in place as if his shoes ­were glued to the ground.
Akoma swore beneath her breath. That server’s glitch threatened to ruin
a week’s worth of planning. She pushed back from the t­ able and was half-
way to her feet when a familiar voice spoke in her mind.
My bad! I’ ll ­handle it.
She glanced around and spotted a figure across the room. A brown-­
skinned young man sat spinning a fork on his ­table—­her partner, Darian
Holt. He smiled at her from his window-­side booth. Akoma looked past

2
him at the town square outside and, far beyond it, a densely wooded
national park: pine trees, tall and imposing, loomed up against the fog-­
streaked, navy-­blue sky.
What happened? Akoma thought the words into Darian’s mind and sat
back down.
Darian shrugged, brown locs falling over his round eyes. Sometimes the
toys misbehave.
I still think it’s weird when you call them that, Akoma said. Darian
quirked his lips into a mischievous smile, making the ever-­present lollipop
twitch in the corner of his mouth. Akoma frowned. Can you fix it?
Not enough time, he said. Better to remove this one from the scene.
Akoma nodded. Darian slid out of the booth, singing painfully off-­key
and rocking his broad shoulders to the ­music in a syncopated pattern that
drew a laugh from Akoma.
“It’s 2051, Holt,” she said. “That dance move expired five years ago.”
“­There’s no expiration when I do it.”
Akoma shook her head and scanned the items in his booth. A Baccha &
Bolt electric pistol lay next to a bag of candy and a silver rectangular case.
She glanced at the stainless-­steel pistol on her own t­ able, its chamber loaded
with electro-­darts. It had taken almost a year, but she had fi­nally gotten
used to the weight of the weapon in her hands.
Ready to obscure? Darian asked.
Nodding, Akoma fished into her pocket and produced a thin, shiny
disk between gloved fin­gers. Darian caught her toss with a flourish and a
bow. She laughed. He stuck the disk to a win­dow and pushed a few but-
tons. A silver film streaked across the win­dows, coating the entire wall of
glass, and screening them from curious pedestrians. It gleamed like a mir-
ror. Akoma caught her reflection ­there: a square face, high cheekbones, and

3
full, pomegranate-­red lips. She ­nervously thumbed at the star shape cut
into the band of shorn hair above her left ear. She turned back to Darian in
time to see him whispering to the server.
Are you ­really talking to it? she asked.
Promising to fix the malfunction, he said, smiling.
With his eyes still trained on the server and a wink for Akoma, Darian
dropped a small black ball near the man’s feet. It hit the floor with a sharp
clang, and its top unfurled like a mechanical ­rose blooming. Even though
Akoma had witnessed ­these deactivations before, she still found them dis-
turbing, especially as the server was pulled up off the ground, pausing to
float a foot above the ­tables, his head lolling from side to side. He then
began vibrating faster and faster u
­ ntil he shattered into thousands of tiny
crystal shards. They reflected sparkling light across the restaurant. It took
some seconds, but the crystals converged into a single floating sphere, which
plunged into the deactivation ball with a loud whoosh.
The ­others pass, yeah? Darian said.
Akoma swept the room a final time, eyeing the diners, their smiles, their
frowns, their movements, searching f­aces for flaws she may have missed.
Pleased, she waved a hand at the room and spoke in a dramatic thespian tone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, y­ ou’re all perfect.” And they ­were: The men and
­women gathered at Bokko’s Bistro shared a love of Ghanaian cuisine
and the lack of a heartbeat. Darian’s microbot illusions ­were minutely pro-
grammed, and Akoma’s meticulous eye made sure they felt convincing.
Solo guy at your two o­’clock has been checking you out all night, Darian
teased. He scooped up the ball and snapped it shut. His brown eyes flashed
humor. ­Don’t you need a date for ­junior prom or something?
School’s out for the year, genius, Akoma huffed. Plus, that’s not funny.
Of course it is. Darian settled into the booth’s cushions.

4
 If you make it come talk to me, D, I’ ll kill you, Akoma said. Frowning, she
swept her mass of black curls up into a ponytail.
It? Darian shot her a look of mock hurt. They have names, you know.
Akoma scowled at him as static crackled in her earpiece. She pressed a
fin­ger to a tiny dot ­behind her ear to mute her PsychLink with Darian and
open the team’s OuterComm channel.
“Addo, Holt, this is case support,” the voice said. “You read?”
“We read, Kat,” Akoma said out loud. “But why no PsychLink comm?”
“Y’all have tested it enough,” Kat replied. “Plus, I prefer to have y’all in
my ear rather than in my mind for as long as I can help it.”
Darian snorted. “My mind’s a ­great place to be.”
“Also, I need to test this OuterComm channel,” Kat said. “Scene set?”
“Yup,” Akoma confirmed. “What’s your status?”
“Stuffed,” Kat said matter-­of-­factly. “Bad idea to set me up in this
kitchen. ­Can’t stop eating. The roasted plantains, the fried fish, and oh!
The boiled yams. Ugh, I hurt.”
Akoma giggled. “­Should’ve paced yourself like I told you to.”
“My belly takes ­orders from no one,” Kat said. “Maybe one more piece
of yam and—”
“Katarina Smyth!” Akoma and Darian said in chorus.
“Friends! No need for formal name-calling,” Kat said, sounding put out.
“­We’re all clear. I’ve cordoned off the area with velvet rope to indicate a
private event ­tonight.”
“Backup?” Darian asked.
“On standby waiting for my call,” Kat assured them.
“Cams?” Akoma said.
“One in your overhead lamp—­nice outfit, by the way.”
“Thanks, Kat.”

5
 Akoma smiled up at the lamp as if Kat had pinned a best-­dressed medal
to her chest. Not one to fuss over fashion, she had made an effort t­onight
with a black linen jumpsuit that was fitted and crisp, its cap sleeves embel-
lished with cowrie shells worked into a wave pattern.
“What about me?” Darian said.
“­Don’t be needy, Holt,” Akoma said, ignoring his scowl.
Kat continued. “Two more cameras at the bar and one in the foyer. Each
one is fitted with a scanner. And yes, I’ve double-checked the disruptors in
the streetlamps. So, tech’s all set.”
“How’s our drone?” Darian said. “See our Guest yet?”
“Still searching pedestrians . . . ​wait, no,” she said. “I think I’ve got him!
Yup. I see the red pocket square he said he’d wear as a visual identifier. He’s
turning onto Sahara Drive from Benin.”
“So, that’s—­?” Akoma asked.
“Three short blocks out. Oh!” Kat went ­silent.
“What?” Akoma asked, concerned.
“He’s what I’d call quite pleasing to the eye,” Kat murmured. “Looking
­really good in high-­definition zoom.”
Akoma snickered, but Darian rolled his eyes and began unwrapping a
new lollipop.
“Focus, Kat,” he said. “Any unwanted friends in his perimeter?”
“As far as I can tell, he’s alone . . .” She paused, then continued in a
­measured tone, “Okay, team. Drone’s scan reveals no weapons on Guest,
but it’s picking up an energy frequency signature coming from him.”
Darian sat up, alert. “Known or unknown?”
“Not matching any known ones in our files,” Kat said. “Definitely an
unknown frequency signature. Initiating UFS protocol now.”
­Those words churned Akoma’s stomach. She had hoped to avoid that

6
­tonight. The presence of a UFS required extra precautions—­she knew the
drill. She glanced at Darian. Every­thing about him was ­eager: the smile on
his face, the shift in his posture. He whisked the silver case off the t­able
and started ­toward Akoma. But before bringing it to her, he adjusted the
Obscuro-­disk on the win­dow. The coating on the glass morphed. Now,
while they could see the world outside, the public remained blissfully
unaware of the activity inside Bokko’s Bistro.
Coming to her table, Darian spun a chair around backward and strad-
dled it. Akoma looked at him, and then away. Anxiety constricted her throat,
like a thick ribbon tightening around her neck, choking her resolve, espe-
cially as her eyes landed on the case.
Darian took Akoma’s arm and squeezed it once. “Hey,” he said, tone
soft. “I know t­ oday’s a tough anniversary for you. If you need me to, I can
run point ­tonight. I memorized your mission brief just in case.”
A heavy ache lodged in Akoma’s chest. She felt the burning pressure of
tears building ­behind her eyes and willed them to recede. “I’m fine,” she
managed with a smile. She dipped her hand into the pocket of her overcoat,
hung on the back of her chair, and pulled out a sheet of thin of blue glass
small enough to fit in her palm—­a Commspad.
“Ready?” Kat said.
­A fter Akoma’s slight nod, Darian replied, “Proceed with verification.”
“Nine Alpha Omega Twelve Alpha Tango.” Kat spoke in a crisp monotone.
Akoma’s Commspad vibrated in her hand. She stared down. A holo-
graphic grid had sprung to life above it. Several numbers skittered across—­a
code, winking like blue starlight. Jaw set, she focused on the ones that
glowed the brightest.
“Nine Alpha Omega Twelve Alpha Tango,” she repeated. “Verified.”
“Holt?” Kat said.

7
 “Unlock code verified,” Darian confirmed, gazing at his own grid.
“You are now authorized.”
Together, Akoma and Darian inserted their Commspads into thin slots
on opposite ends of the case. A sharp hiss issued from inside. Darian slid
the lid aside and smiled, like a child fi­nally given permission to play, while
Akoma merely clenched her teeth at the sight of her graser—­short for
gamma-­ray ­laser. The first time she had seen the slender, rod-­shaped
weapon, her marksmanship instructor had said, “Nine inches of titanium
alloyed with iron. One of the finest precision weapons developed in the last
­decade. ­You’re armed and dangerous now,” he’d added with a laugh.
Except Akoma d
­ idn’t find it funny. Not when the blue luminescent
beam that streamed out from the end of this weapon could kill and destroy.
With effort, Akoma suppressed a shudder. She grabbed her graser, staring
at the black activation buttons that shone along the cold length of metal.
­Earlier, she had fastened an empty pistol holster to the underside of the
­table. She slipped the graser into the holster now.
“Okay, team,” Kat said, “switching to PsychLink now that ­we’re in UFS
mode.”
“­Don’t sound too pumped,” Akoma said, and reactivated her PsychLink.
Protocol required it in case OuterComms became compromised.
­Going quiet to focus on tech, Kat told them. Holler if you need any—­hey!
Look alive. ­You’re on!
Akoma and Darian exchanged game-­time glances, and ­after a breath
Darian stood, grabbed the graser case, and rushed to his booth. Her main
pistol in hand, Akoma checked its settings. The indicator light flashed
green, confirming a full charge. She tucked it inside her boot and dropped
her pant leg over it, the heat of adrenaline warming down her spine. Now
only the foyer of Bokko’s Bistro separated them from their Guest.

8
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