Chief Superintendent Ekama Pepple was not the kind of officer Lagos produced often.
Sharp-eyed, unbending, and carved from years of street duty, she wore her scars like medals and her silence like armor.
At thirty-seven, she had clawed her way through a police force thick with corruption, where loyalty was bought and justice was often for sale.

Born in the waterfront slums of Port Harcourt and hardened in the chaos of Lagos, Ekama knew what it meant to grow up unseen, unheard, and unprotected. That memory fueled her fury. She fought for victims as if she were fighting for herself.

Her reputation was simple: when Ekama Pepple was on a case, kidnappers did not sleep easy.
Now, as the newly promoted head of the Anti-Kidnapping Squad, she carried Lagos on her shoulders—seven officers at her back, a city drowning in fear before her, and a syndicate that had already marked her for death.

For Ekama, there was no middle ground.
It was justice—or blood.