Chapter Text
You don’t know that your world is possible of crashing down around you until it actually happens.
It was late that night, you were spending as much time as you could procrastinating. You were in that booth again, hood pulled up above your face. The cafe was cheap, and run down, but it stayed open late and the owner lets you spend some nights as long as you were gone early the following day.
You kept your hands squarely stuffed in your pockets. You nestled your back deeper into the cheap leather seating, hoping to blend into the shadows.
You didn’t have much time, you knew. You already skipped three days last week, and Harrow was starting to get on your ass with his passive-aggressive comments and his usual spiel about “scales being in balance” and “heaven on Earth”.
You couldn’t say you actually believed in this “rising of Egyptian God” and being in some religious cult wasn't really on your list of preferable places to live. But you couldn’t deny that Harrow had pulled you off the streets and given you a place to sleep and eat that was better than any run-down couch you slept on.
You now had a bed of your own, and free food from countless cultures made by the other strays that Harrow pulled. You even had some money in your pockets, enough to get you around. Your options of clothes expanded slightly, going from one faded hoodie and jeans, dirty and thin, to a few more comfortable clothes easy to move around in.
When Harrow had announced his plan to you—a plan to judge the evil in the world before they could stain history—you didn’t think it would go anywhere. But in recent days, Harrow has become more determined and has started calling on you more often.
You knew the streets like the back of your hand, and Harrow took advantage of this. He started sending you out to scout, though for what, you weren’t sure. The many times that you expressed to him that you didn’t know what you were looking for, he had pressed that “you will know when you see it. It is not the kind of thing that you could miss”.
The first few months, you listened. You did rounds all around London, looking into every crevice of the city. When the information you presented was unsatisfactory, you gave up. When he sent you out, you would linger in restaurants and sleep in alleyways. When you came back to his call, you said that there was nothing.
Harrow is many things, but he isn’t stupid. He knew right away what you were doing, though he didn’t punish you. He didn’t punish anyone if your scales were balanced. He lets you go; confident in your ability to find what he is looking for, whatever that may be.
His loss, you think.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket—another gift from Harrow—and you pull it out, already knowing who the caller is. It was the only person who ever called.
“Harrow,” you say as a greeting.
“Should I trust that you have found what I’m looking for?”
“It’s the same as usual.”
You hear him shift behind the phone before he responds. There is a sort of glee behind his tone, making a shiver go down your spine.
“That’s alright, I've found a lead for you to follow.”
That was new. You sat up, glancing around the cafe. It was empty as usual, but you couldn’t help the feeling of unease.
“Spill,” you say shortly.
“A man named Steven Grant. He works at that museum not too far from where you are now.”
A shock runs through your body, and your spine goes rigid.
“How-“
His voice cuts you off, that same tone resting over you.
“I care about all of Ammits followers, and I know your past. I do it for your own safety. Keep tabs on this Steven Grant, and maybe I’ll have more trust to look the other way.”
You peek out the cafe window, glancing down the street. People pass in groups, seemingly unknowing that you are even there. It could be anyone out there, watching you. It would be impossible to hide.
After a moment of silence, you respond.
“Alright.”
“I trust that you will be able to fulfill this request for me,” Harrow says before hanging up abruptly.
You sit stunned, the phone still up to your ear. A scowl fits over your face. You knew Harrow was passionate about his belief in Ammit, and that his money made him powerful. But stalking someone was a whole other level of weird.
Unfortunately, Harrow can take away everything he had given you, and you would rather die than give up this comfortable spot you found yourself in.
You scrounge a few dollars of change from your pocket, depositing it on the table haphazardly. You rush out the door, making sure to walk in the shadows and keep your head low. Harrow hadn’t lied, you only had to walk about a block before the massive museum came into view. You did a quick search as to when the museum closed. 30 minutes. That's all you needed.
Walking up and into the museum was easy, and no one spared you a look. When walking in, a security guard lounged in a chair on your right. He seemed busy, staring at his phone with a dumb smile on his face. You plant yourself in front of his booth, waiting pointedly for his attention.
“Museum closes in thirty. It’s free so go right in,” he said, not even bothering to spare you a glance. You try to hunker yourself deeper into your hoodie, counting security cameras.
“Do you know a Steven Grant?”
This time, the guard looks up. His eyebrows raise at the name, and he gives you a once-over.
“Uh, yeah. He works at the gift shop…you got a date with him or something?” He lets a puff of laughter at that, shaking his head slightly. You turn on your heel and make your way through the museum without responding.
Yeah, something like that, you think.
You slow your pace, stopping every now and then to glance around at the exhibits. The significance goes right over your head, and you feel just as confused as you do when Harrow tries to explain how important releasing Ammit is.
You stop and scan over a stone painting, just to kill some time. The picture shows a man with the head of a hawk, towering over faithful followers. He seems pretty important.
“That’s Ra, he’s known as the king of all Egyptian gods.”
You jump at the sound of the voice, hovering nervously over your shoulder. You spin around and lock eyes with a man. The first thing that pops out at you is how tired he looks. Dark purple eye bags sink under his eyes, which are dark and glassy looking. You know you really weren’t one to talk about eye bags, it’s been a minute since you’ve had a full night's sleep. But damn.
“Oh, sorry. I saw you looking at the painting; couldn’t help but chip in.”
His British accent was heavy, but it seemed to fit with his anxiety-ridden voice. Which he did have. He fiddled and fidgeted under your gaze, glancing all about. He was distractingly attractive, but it was hidden under the messy curly hair that was sticking up every which way. Under any other circumstances, and if you were anyone else, you probably would have flirted with him.
You give a short nod in response, glancing back at the painting with a new light. When you turn back around the man is still there.
If he’s gonna linger, might as well get some information out of him.
The man looks about ready to retreat before you speak up.
“Do you know if Steven Grant is working today?”
His head perks up at this, his eyes widening as if you asked him to join you on a great adventure to Egypt to find a hidden sarcophagus and become heroes of history.
“Oh! Uh-yep that’s me. See…huh,” he stutters and shuffles, looking down and then around himself. He padded down his shirt and pants, muttering to himself, before starting at the thought that maybe he was making a bit of a scene, before directing his attention to you again.
“I guess I forgot my name tag…I could have sworn…uh, anyway. Yep, I'm Steven. With a V!
Uh, anyway…”
This guy really needs to work on his social skills.
The situation was awkward on your part. You hadn’t planned on actually confronting him, and you couldn’t exactly say ‘Great! Now if you could hand over any important items that many significant to my psycho boss, that would be awesome!’. Harrow had certainly given you a hint, but you still didn’t know what you were looking for. Maybe you’re not as good at this as you once thought.
“Oh great. Uh, I wanted to talk to you about…”
Your brain reached for different topics. Saying he needed to fill out a survey wouldn’t work, not with what you were wearing now. You definitely were in no position to tell him to go home. Steven tilted his head slightly, waiting patiently for you to continue. You were starting to feel pressured.
“…about a date.”
His eyebrows raise, mouth parting slightly. You mentally facepalm yourself. That is not what you wanted to happen.
“A-a date? Like an actual date date?”
Now you couldn’t take it back. He seemed so hopeful. His lips started to lift at the corners. It may work though. Have one or two dates, stay the night at his house, then ditch him. Hopefully whatever he’s hiding is in his apartment. Before you respond, you reluctantly pull down your hood to show your face, hoping to sell the image.
You watch his eyes flick all over your face, categorizing your eyes, your skin, the shape of your nose and mouth. You’re glad that when you shrink away from him slightly, he clears his throat and averts his gaze.
“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t mind. It’s been a while since I’ve done the whole, you know, dating thing. I’m a little rusty, heh, uhh but anyway. Yep!”
“How about tomorrow night?”
A shout comes from behind him, and an aggravated woman comes marching out. Her heels click against the floor as she marches up to the two of you.
“Stevie, you better be getting your sorry arse over to inventory, yeah hear?”
When she notices you, she hesitates, then brushes down her white business blouse. If she hadn’t looked at you like you were some druggie who was about to smash historical relics, you would have been impressed by her sense of authority.
“I’m on my way, actually,” Steven (Stevie?) says, voice soft, a little annoyed.
“Yeah well, don’t make me wait all night to close,” she punctually says, before swiveling on her feet and leaving in the direction she came from.
“Oh, and it’s Steven!” he shouts back at her, but if she heard, she doesn’t respond.
“Sorry about that, Donna can get a little cranky at closing time. Anyway, I better get going. I guess I'll see you…tomorrow night!”
You give your best tight-lipped smile, nodding along. When you glance behind Steven, a security guard walks by, not the one from the front desk. He walks by slowly, keeping his eyes directly on yours. Your body goes taught as you track his movements. You scale your eyes down his body, eyes caught on his forearm. He had flicked the sleeve up, just enough for you to catch the dark tattoo stamped into his skin.
You whisper a swear under your breath, unknowingly taking a step back. Steven follows your gaze behind him. He flicks his eyes between you and then the guard and back to you again.
“That’s PJ, he just started the other day. Do you know him?”
You keep your eyes on the back of PJ The Ammit Follower’s head until he is out of sight. When you tear your gaze from the empty space that fills his absence, Steven is looking at you warily.
“I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Steven,” you say, struggling to keep the anger out of your voice.
When you speak, Steven perks up immediately, as if each word you spoke would be immensely important.
“Of course! I-I have to get back to work anyway. It was nice talking…actually, I’ve just realized I don’t know your name.”
You hesitate, only for a moment, before telling him. You stand there, watching him as he studies your name. You hear him whisper it softly, maybe to himself, then give a gentle smile. That smile made all his features change. It somehow made his eyes softer, and his cheekbones rounder. He looked so innocent. You would be lying if you said you weren't a bit jealous. You had to walk away before you started to fall down that particular rabbit hole. When you pass the security guard's post on the way out, you make sure to send a sharp glare for putting the idea of “dates” in your head.
The sharp cold air of London blew against you as you make your way down the steps of the museum. You were tired, more than usual, and you were looking forward to being able to sleep in your bed for once.
“You should hurry home, you have a very important date tomorrow.”
The sound of Harrow’s voice makes you stop in your tracks. When you look up, he's waiting for you at the bottom of the steps, cane in hand. You make sure to keep your distance from him, stopping three steps from the sidewalk.
“I didn’t mean for it to go like that. It kind of just…happened,” you mumble.
“You have nothing to worry about; in fact, I think it’s a great idea,” Harrow says, his eyes locked on yours, hands rubbing over the head of his cane.
“You do?”
“Of course! Steven Grant is a very important…obstacle, but he is also a puzzle that I can not figure out. You will be my double agent, so to speak. Find out what he is, and find what I’m looking for.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what I’m looking for? It will certainly make my job easier,” you spit. Harrow smiles at you as if you were a child asking a silly question. He turns his back without answering, and the clicks of his cane echo in your ears in his wake. You stare after him, even long after he was out of sight.
You were stuck in your thoughts on your walk home, thoughts spinning round and round, always leading back to the same thing. Steven and his date. You groan to yourself, rubbing a hand over your eyes. You wonder if you even remember how to go on a date properly. What should you wear, something nice? Should you buy some makeup? Would you have time to braid your hair?
Who cares?
You definitely shouldn’t. It wasn’t even a real date! Something small nudges at your mind, that’s not akin to guilt. You sort of felt bad for manipulating him like this–god knows how often he goes out. Though you really had no room to talk. You let yourself wonder, just when you walk into your apartment that's not yours full of stuff given to you, what it would feel like to pretend that this was real. Just for a moment.
You quickly brush that thought away.