The phones are placed on the charge, and in the meantime, the landline is used to contact the group of archaeologists about their late arrival. It all gets sorted out, and Cleo will be back to work in no time.

Cleo stands before the mirror, her reflection distorted by the dimly lit room. Her eyes, heavy with unshed tears, gaze back at her with a mix of despair and defiance. She knows she should face her fears head-on, confront the demons that haunt her, but tonight she seeks relief in a different way. The weight of her troubled thoughts bears down on her, suffocating her from within. She craves an escape, even if only temporary, from the relentless grip of her own mind. In a desperate attempt to silence the voices that echo in her head, she decides to drown her sorrows in the numbing embrace of alcohol.

Tinged with desperation, Cleo selects a black dress that hugs her figure, a mask to conceal her vulnerability. She leaves Marc or Steven or whomever will wake up in control, and allows them both to catch some much-needed sleep in the hotel room. As she steps out into the Cairo night, the sound of her heels against the pavement echoes through the empty streets. The city is alive with shadows and secrets, an enigmatic playground where she hopes to lose herself.

The club pulses with life as Cleo steps inside, the music pounding in her chest, matching the erratic beat of her heart. The air is thick with a heady mix of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation. She navigates through the crowd, her movements fluid and purposeful, seeking refuge in the chaos that surrounds her. Bodies writhe on the dancefloor, lost souls seeking release from their own torments. Cleo joins them, moving with an abandon that borders on reckless. She dances as if possessed, her body swaying and contorting with each beat. The strobe lights cast eerie shadows across her face, distorting her features into something otherworldly.

But eyes watch her from the darkest corners of the club. A God stands amidst the pulsating crowd. His presence is felt rather than seen, a chilling breeze that raises hairs on the back of her neck. He observes her with a detached curiosity, his eyes piercing through the smoke and haze.

As Cleo loses herself in the music, her mind clouded by the intoxicating concoction of alcohol and desperation, a sense of unease begins to gnaw at her. The once vibrant atmosphere now feels stifling, the energy in the room turning sinister. Shadows dance on the walls, twisting and contorting in unsettling patterns.

Marc stirs from his sleep, an instinctive awareness pulling him towards a sense of impending danger. The darkness of their hotel room feels heavier, oppressive. He rubs his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, as he realizes Cleo is no longer beside him. Panic grips his heart as he frantically searches the room, calling out her name into the emptiness.

" Marc, Marc! Wh-Where is she?"

" I don't know."

Steven is frantically pacing within the realm of the mirror as Marc throws on a jacket and a pair of shoes before disappearing into the night sky.

Outside the club, in the alleyways shrouded in darkness, Marc's voice mingles with the sound of distant sirens. It reverberates through the labyrinthine streets, a desperate plea that seems to dissipate into thin air. He moves with an urgency fueled by fear, the echoes of Cleo's name bouncing off the walls and fading into obscurity.

Meanwhile, Cleo's dance grows increasingly frenetic. Her movements become disjointed, almost mechanical, as if a force beyond her control compels her. The gazes of those around her shift from admiration to trepidation, a collective unease permeating the air. Whispers of a curse, an ancient magic, circulate amongst the patrons, their voices blending with the dissonant music.

The God watches with an inscrutable expression, the flickering lights casting an otherworldly glow upon his face. His presence is palpable, a manifestation of the unseen forces that toy with human lives. Cleo's reckless abandon has unknowingly drawn the God closer. He steps out from the shadows, his form blending seamlessly with the darkness that surrounds him. The air grows colder, sending a shiver down Cleo's spine as she senses a presence looming behind her.

She feels... something. Something that makes her breath grow cold and her eyes twitch. She wants to ignore it. She doesn't wish to face her demons nor her troubles. She wants to enjoy her time and forget about the pain, but the grip the God has on her is not something easily broken.

Marc, guided by an inexplicable instinct, navigates the labyrinthine streets, his pace quickening with each step. Fear and urgency push him forward, his heart pounding in his chest as though it senses the imminent danger that lurks in the shadows.

Cleo then turns, her movements unsteady, and finds herself face-to-face with the ancient god. His eyes, deep and penetrating, lock onto hers with an intensity that sends a chill through her soul. The music fades into the background, swallowed by the ominous silence that fills the air. As she stands frozen before the God, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and dread, his voice resonates in her head, a haunting whisper that cuts through the noise of the club.

"You seek refuge from your demons, yet you have unknowingly invited the darkness to dance with you," He intones, his words echoing in the depths of her consciousness.

Trembling, Cleo tries to speak, but her voice fails her. The God's presence overwhelms her senses, his proximity suffocating. She feels a surge of panic rise within her, threatening to consume her fragile composure. Suddenly, the club's pulsating music distorts, warping into a discordant melody that grates against Cleo's eardrums. The dancefloor morphs into an ethereal realm, a twisted reflection of reality. The once lively crowd becomes a congregation of faceless specters, their movements grotesque and unnatural.

Marc, now on the outskirts of the club, senses the shift in the air, the eerie stillness that settles over the area. A sense of foreboding washes over him, intensifying his determination to find Cleo. His heart pounds in his chest, his breath shallow as he pushes forward, determined to uncover the mystery that shrouds his beloved.

Inside the club, Cleo is ensnared by the God's gaze, her body suspended in an inexplicable trance. Shadows coil around her, elongating and reaching out like tendrils, threatening to consume her fragile form. Fear grips her heart, its icy fingers squeezing tightly, as she struggles against the invisible chains that bind her. Her fingers twitch, though only manage to produce tiny specks of sand. Her powers fail her as she stands before the otherworldly presence of a giant, pitch-black jackal with glowing his.

Marc bursts through the club's entrance, his eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any sign of Cleo. The sight that greets him is beyond comprehension—dancing shadows, twisted figures, and an otherworldly atmosphere that seems to defy all logic. The air crackles with unnatural energy, filling him with a mixture of terror and determination. Driven by love and an unwavering resolve, Marc pushes through the disorienting crowd, desperately searching for a glimpse of Cleo. His voice, laced with desperation, calls out her name, his pleas echoing in the strange, distorted space.

The God's attention briefly shifts to Marc, his gaze narrowing as he observes the interloper. Sensing a threat to his dominion, he raises a hand, summoning an invisible force that throws Marc back, sending him sprawling to the floor. Pain courses through his body, but his determination remains unyielding.

Cleo, momentarily released from the God's hold, stumbles backward, her eyes darting between the god and the fallen figure of Marc.

Her lips part, as if words are about to leave her mouth, but her voice fails her yet again. She trembles with fear, hands shaking and breath quivering. She cannot move, she cannot run, she cannot save herself nor Marc. She is utterly powerless, a truth that settles in as tears sting her eyes.

But the God only cackles in delight.

" What's wrong, little one? Are you scared?" He taunts.

As his words echo through the twisted space, the very fabric of reality seems to warp and tremble. The shadows writhe and contort, elongating into sinister tendrils that reach out, seeking to ensnare Cleo and Marc. The air grows heavier, tainted with the stench of ancient malevolence. In her nose goes the scent of wet dog, as the glowing yellow eyes stare deeply into her soul, pulling her in and keeping the sands of the desert out of her reach.

Cleo cannot tap into her powers, even as the Eye of Horus tattoo on her forearms burns her skin.

Marc, his body aching from the forceful impact, musters his strength, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and adrenaline. His eyes glow with an ethereal white light, unbeknownst to him, a manifestation of the dormant power that lies within him. The ancient essence of Khonshu awakens within him, lending him strength and resilience. His eyes glow as little crescent moons appear, the wrapped bandages aching to wrap around his body, though he's completely unaware.

As Cleo witnesses the radiant glow emanating from Marc's eyes, her heart skips a beat. A mix of awe and dread engulfs her as she realizes that his body is still a vessel, a slave to the God's influence, even without his knowledge. The impossibility of it all threatens to shatter her fragile grip on reality.

It cannot be. The shared body is free. She was there when Khonshu gave her boys their life and freedom.

It makes no sense. How could it be? Do her eyes deceive her?

But there is no time for contemplation. The darkness coils around them, its grip tightening with each passing moment. The God still remains, towering over Cleo as she finds herself unable to look away. Once more, her ears ring with the maddening clang of barking, that swirl around and create a trap, one that has her heart pounding in her chest, her hands shaking at her sides, and her head ready to pop off her shoulders. Cleo cannot breathe and she cannot move. She is trapped. Sobs threaten to escape her throat as the powers that be toy with her.

Whether it be the hidden powers of Khonshu or his connection with Cleo's soul, Marc is able to make his way through the sea of people within the club, and attempts to strike the God where he stands, but it's as if the God isn't there. Marc's fist of fury passes through the grand body, and a low chuckle emits from the back of his throat.

" He cannot protect you forever."

And then, everything goes back to normal. The sound of the club returns to Cleo's ears, she's no longer trapped in the God's grasp, nor does he stand before her. Cleo's head thumps and her heart still pounds as Marc fights to get back to her.

The God's final words mean two very different things to them both. Marc just assumes the God meant that he cannot protect Cleo forever, when in reality... the God meant that Khonshu cannot protect Marc forever.

" The hell just happened?" He questions as his hands grip her arms, eyes going back and forth between checking her and their surroundings, " Who the hell was that?"

Yet Cleo's eyes stay locked on his eyes. She intently stares as she examines his pupils and irises. She sees him and she sees Steven... but she sees something else. It's familiar and lights up a part of her brain, but cannot exactly pinpoint what or who it is. She stares deeply into his eyes, her own unwavering as she gazes into the windows to his soul in search of the hidden meaning.

Both Khonshu and the other altar feel her gaze, but remain unknown in the shadows. They can see her, but she doesn't know that she sees them.

" Is she alright?"

" Are you okay?" Marc asks as he mirrors the man inside his head, but is still met with Cleo's unblinking eyes, " Cleo? Baby, what's wrong?"

" He's here," Cleo utters, slowly and softly as her eyes even still refuse to blink.

" Who's here?" He asks.

And only then, finally, Cleo blinks.

" I... I don't know," She admits, having lost her train of thought.

" You don't know?" Marc asks, his brows furrowing as his thumbs gently rub against her biceps.

She shakes her head, and Marc sighs.

" Let's get out of here, yeah?"

Cleo nods, then intertwines their fingers and allows Marc to guide her out of the booming club environment, where the guilt begins to eat away at her.

" I'm sorry," She mutters, " For leaving you and going out."

" Don't worry about it," Marc brushes off as they continue to walk back to the hotel, " For what it's worth, you look hot."

Cleo giggles at the compliment, still feeling the effect of the drinks in her mind and body as she carefully walks up the steps with guidance. Cleo's steps grow increasingly unsteady, her mind clouded by the remnants of the night's intoxication. She leans on Marc for support, her grip on reality tenuous at best. The guilt that gnaws at her intensifies with each passing moment, the weight of her actions bearing down on her like a heavy burden.

Upon reaching the hotel room, Cleo slumps onto the bed, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. Marc sits beside her, his presence a comforting presence by her side. As she drifts into a fitful sleep, her mind teetering on the edge of dreams and reality, a faint whisper echoes through her consciousness.

" Remember your power, Cleopatra."

Her mind finds slumber ever so quickly. Her head is smushed against the pillow as gentle snores begin to leave her lips.

" Awh, look at her. All tuckered out."

Marc follows Steven's gaze from the mirror and finds Cleo passed out on the bed, causing a soft chuckle to escape his lips. He bends down to remove her heels, but as he unbuckles the first strap, he feels his head and eyes roll back, only for the head to level with a deep breath.

Marc and Steven are gone.

Jake looks down at his hands and sees himself in the middle of removing her shoes, and continues doing so with a gentle smirk. He lets the heels drop to the floor, then plants a kiss on her soft skin, before he drapes a blanket over her sleeping body.

" SHE IS QUITE BEAUTIFUL."

" Sí... y ella será toda mía ( Yes... and she will be all mine)"

In the late hours under the moonlight, Jake takes the shared body out of the room and exits the hotel, where he is seen and observed by the auntie as she sips her tea.

And the morning, as Cleo slowly wakes from her restless slumber, she finds herself back in the hotel room, the events of the night already fading like a hazy dream. The phones rest on the charging dock, indicating that some progress has been made in their mission. The room is filled with an air of renewed determination as Cleo gathers herself, ready to face the challenges that lie ahead.

She reads her messages before she realizes that the bed is empty, something that's brought to her attention once the door swings open, and she turns her head to lock eyes with Marc.

But Jake stands there, hand still wrapped around the doorknob, covered in blood and praying she doesn't notice.

" You're up early," Cleo observes as a yawn crawls up her throat.

She closes her eyes and covers her mouth, but by the time her eyes reopen, he's gone and the bathroom door is shut.

Strange.

Cleo's brows gently furrow, but she still shrugs it off. She's far too tired and even still has a pounding headache within her skull. Nonetheless, she forces herself to get out of bed, and throws on some clothes and some shoes before she descends the steps to enter the lobby, where Auntie awaits with two cups of hot coffee in hand.

" Sabah alkhayr ( Good morning )" The woman greets as she hands over the coffee and some pastries, " Yabdu 'anak qadiat laylatan mumtieatan ( It seems like you had a fun night )"

" Aywa," Cleo affirms as she brings the hot coffee to her lips.

" 'iilaa 'ayn dhahab allaylat almadiata? ( Where did he go last night? )"

" Min? ( Who? )"

" Rajaluk, Cleo ( Your man )"

" Marc?"

" La 'aetaqid 'anah kan Marc ( I don't think it was Marc )"

" 'Iidhan la buda 'anah kan stifin ( Then it must have been Steven )"

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[ im so excited for what comes next! this book is my first time writing something with lots of tension and horror, so i really hope y'all are able to enjoy 🥹 also isn't it amazing that baahir isn't here anymore? ]