[DGW: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING OTHER THAN MY OC'S]
OKAY SO Basil ASKED ME TO DO THIS FOR THEM, 'cause they can't speak normally.
If you're hearing this story, you may already be in danger. Basil, Sadie, and I might be your only chance.
Go to the school. Find the locker. I won't tell you which school or which locker, because if you're the right person, you'll find it. The combination is 13/32/33. By the time you finish listening, you'll know what those numbers mean. Just remember the story we're about to tell you isn't complete yet. How it ends will depend on you.
The most important thing: when you open the package and find what's inside, don't keep it longer than a week. Sure, it'll be tempting. I mean, it will grant you almost unlimited power. But if you possess it too long, it will consume you. Learn its secrets quickly and pass it on. Hide it for the next person, the way Sadie and I did for you. Then be prepared for your life to get very interesting.
If you see a blue haired woman, give up on what we tell you and just go back to your life; you will be in danger.
Okay, Sadie is telling me to stop stalling and get on with the story. Fine. Basil says it started in America, the night he got a deal to go to the British Museum.
[I will be speaking from Basil's first person perspective from this point on]
My name is Basil Castellan. I am twelve-years-old, and my only purpose in life is to be better than everyone.
Excellence is a habit. That's what I told myself every morning when I buttoned up my uniform, smoothed my tie, and laced my polished shoes. It's what I believed every time I turned in an assignment early, outperformed my classmates in debate club, or smiled through another award ceremony that felt emptier than it should have. Being perfect wasn't just my goal—it was my survival.
I wasn't born a Castellan, but I had to be better than one. I had to be better than my adoptive mother's son.
Luke Castellan was a ghost in my house, more real in absence than he ever was in presence. I barely remembered the first and only time I saw him—just a boy with jet black hair and angry blue eyes who looked at me like I was something to pity. After he left for good, my mother never stopped talking about him.
"Luke was always so quick, so strong."
"Luke would have been great."
"Luke should have been a hero."
But Luke was gone, and I was here. And I would be better.
I was the perfect student, the kind teachers held up as an example. I had straight A's, sat at the top of every honors class, and excelled in every extracurricular I could squeeze into my schedule. Debate team, chess club, student government—you name it, I was in it. Not because I loved them, but because I had to be the best.
I knew what people thought of me. Most didn't care. Some respected me —teachers and the rest of student government. Some feared me, even. But no one really liked me.
That was fine.
Better to be feared than forgotten.
When the opportunity came for a week-long, all-expenses-paid overnight trip to the British Museum, I knew I had to take it. The school was only selecting one student, and I wasn't about to let someone else take my place.
The problem? It was a history scholarship contest, and while my grades were flawless, I knew that knowledge alone wouldn't win me the spot. The school wanted someone impressive. Someone charismatic. Someone who could prove they deserved to represent the academy in front of donors and faculty.
That someone was supposed to be Harrison Bellamy.
Harrison was everything I wasn't. Tall, effortlessly confident, always with a lazy smirk that made teachers sigh and girls —and some boys— giggle behind their hands. He had the kind of privilege I would never have—generational wealth, an influential last name, and a world that bent over backward to make life easy for him.
And he hated me.
He never said it outright, of course. That would be crass. No, Harrison played the long game, always looking for ways to undermine me. A casual insult disguised as a joke. A perfectly timed eye-roll in class that made others laugh. Even little things, like the way he'd deliberately mispronounce my last name, just to remind me I didn't really belong to it.
But for all his charm, Harrison didn't care about school. His true love was hockey, and he had a national competition coming up the same weekend as the museum trip. He had no intention of wasting his time in London.
That's how I ended up striking a deal with him.
"I need you to write my essay," Harrison had said, lounging in his chair like he already owned the world. "Make it good, and I'll drop out of the running. You get the trip, I get my weekend. Everyone wins."
I hated making deals. It felt like cheating. But this wasn't about being dishonest—this was about winning.
And so, I wrote the best essay of my life. One that would have won me the trip ten times over if it had my name on it. But when Harrison turned it in as his own, I kept my mouth shut. True to his word, he conveniently forgot to attend the final interview. The school board was so disappointed, but guess who just happened to be next in line?
That's how I secured my spot.
I should've been excited. This was my biggest achievement yet. But as I packed my bags, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made a mistake. Like I'd set something into motion that couldn't be undone.
I ignored it.
I had won. That was all that mattered.
May Castellan's house smelled like burnt cookies and peanut butter sandwiches. It was the only place in the world where time didn't move forward. The clock on the wall was broken, frozen at some unknown hour, and the wallpaper was peeling, stuck in a past no one wanted to remember.
She wasn't cruel, not in the way most people would expect. She never hit me. Never screamed. Never raised her hand in anger.
But she compared.
She compared me to him.
"You have his eyes," she would murmur, pressing a plate of cookies into my hands. "But he was stronger. Smarter. So full of promise."
I ate the cookies. I smiled. I nodded.
Then I stayed up all night studying, because if I couldn't be Luke, then I had to be better.
But no matter how many awards I won, how many times I brought home a perfect report card, May never looked at me the way she looked at his picture.
It didn't matter.
I wasn't trying to win her love. I was trying to be undeniable.
The night before I left for London, I barely slept.
Not because I was nervous. I didn't get nervous —I couldn't get nervous. But because I felt something. A tension in my gut, like a string pulled too tight.
Maybe it was just exhaustion. I'd spent the past week perfecting every little detail—memorizing the museum layout, brushing up on ancient history, even practicing my polite-yet-charming small talk for the curators. I couldn't afford a single misstep.
Everything had to be perfect.
The flight to London was uneventful. My school chaperone, Mr. Grayson, kept a wary eye on me the whole time, like he expected me to start lecturing the flight attendants on aerodynamics. I ignored him.
When we arrived in London, it had already become Christmas Eve. The air outside Heathrow was damp and cold, the kind of wet chill that seeped through my coat and settled in my bones. The sky was a dull gray, and the city felt... muted. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
It was just Mr. Grayson and me as we left the plane.
I didn't mind. I wasn't here to make friends.
Mr. Grayson was my school's history teacher and my designated chaperone for the trip. He was a short, stocky man in his late forties, with a receding hairline and the kind of perpetual frown that made students think twice about slacking off in his class. He wasn't bad exactly, but he didn't trust me.
Not in the way teachers usually trusted their star pupils.
He always watched me like he was waiting for me to slip up. Like he was hoping for it.
"Alright, Castellan," he said, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses as we entered the terminal. "We have a few hours before the museum briefing. We're supposed to meet an archaeologist and his son—Julius Kane and, uh... Carter. Have you heard of them?"
I kept my expression neutral.
I had, actually.
Julius Kane was well-known in academic circles, an Egyptologist who specialized in ancient relics and artifacts. I'd read about some of his work while preparing for the trip, mostly to make sure I knew more than everyone else. But what caught my attention wasn't his credentials—it was the rumors.
Strange incidents followed the man wherever he went. Fires in museum wings, objects disappearing, entire exhibitions shutting down without explanation. Some people whispered that Julius Kane had enemies.
Not the normal kind, either.
Of course, I hadn't found any real proof of anything. But it was enough to make me curious.
"I've heard the name," I admitted. "Why are we meeting them?"
Mr. Grayson sighed. "Because the British Museum thought it would be a wonderful educational opportunity for you to hear from a professional in the field." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Apparently, he'll be giving us a private tour of the Egyptian wing before tomorrow's event."
That... was unexpected.
The museum had already scheduled guest lecturers for our trip, but Julius Kane? That felt last-minute.
"Where are they now?" I asked.
"Should be arriving any minute." Mr. Grayson checked his watch. "Their flight was delayed, but they'll be coming through customs soon. In the meantime, let's look around. You've been on long-haul flights before, I assume?"
I nodded.
I'd traveled before—national competitions, summer programs—but never out of the country. Heathrow Airport was massive, and even though it was late December, the place was alive. People rushed through the terminals, hauling luggage or chattering in dozens of languages. Christmas decorations were strung up near the shops, though the holiday cheer felt half-hearted under the fluorescent lights.
We made our way through the crowd, Mr. Grayson scanning the arrivals board while I observed the people around us. It was a habit I'd picked up—watching, analyzing. People revealed a lot in the way they walked, how they held their bags, how often they glanced over their shoulders.
That was when I saw him.
A tall man in a brown suit and a cashmere coat, his dark skin contrasting against the pale gray surroundings. His bald head and neatly trimmed goatee gave him a commanding presence, but it was his eyes that caught my attention—piercing and sharp, scanning the crowd like he was looking for a threat.
Julius Kane.
Beside him walked a boy who looked to be about my age, maybe a little older. He had the same brown skin as his father, though his features were younger, less severe. He wore a simple long-sleeved shirt and slacks, carrying himself with a quiet wariness that I recognized immediately.
I knew that posture.
It was the way you walked when you were used to keeping your guard up.
Mr. Grayson spotted them too. "That should be them. Let's go."
As we approached, Julius turned sharply, his eyes locking onto us in an instant. For the briefest moment, I felt like he was measuring me—assessing, evaluating. Then he smiled, but there was something guarded behind it.
"You must be Mr. Grayson," he said, shaking my teacher's hand, familiarity in his voice . "And this must be Basil Castellan."
I stiffened slightly. Most adults barely remembered my name, much less pronounced it correctly on the first try.
Julius studied me for half a second longer before turning to his son.
"Carter," he said, "this is Basil. They'll be joining us for the tour."
Carter nodded, but his posture stayed tense.
I could tell, in that instant, that he didn't trust me.
Not yet.
That was fine.
I didn't trust him either.
We reached the baggage claim, the hum of conveyor belts filling the air as travelers jostled for position, waiting for their suitcases to emerge. The overhead monitors blinked with flight numbers, listing arrivals from Cairo, New York, and Singapore. I adjusted my bag strap and glanced sideways at Carter Kane.
He hadn't said much since we met. Neither had I.
I was used to that. People my age rarely knew what to do with me. I was either too intimidating, too ambitious, or too distant. Carter, though—he wasn't intimidated. He was watching me, studying me the same way I was studying him.
We weren't so different in that way.
Julius Kane stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping the crowd like he expected trouble to walk in at any moment. Mr. Grayson was beside him, talking about the museum itinerary, but Julius only gave noncommittal nods, like he had something else on his mind.
I'd read about men like Julius. Not just in textbooks, but in between the lines of the stories that never made it into print. The kind of scholars who found themselves tangled in something bigger than academia. The kind of men who knew more than they should.
And right now, Julius Kane was distracted.
I stole another glance at Carter, who was shifting from foot to foot, his hands buried in his pockets. He wasn't nervous exactly, but he was restless. Like he was waiting for something.
"So," I said finally, breaking the silence between us. "Do you travel a lot?"
He blinked, like he hadn't expected me to talk first. "Uh, yeah. All the time."
I nodded. "For your dad's work?"
"Mostly." He hesitated, then added, "Not that it's glamorous or anything. We're usually in and out of places before we can even see them."
That was interesting. Not surprising, but interesting. His tone wasn't exactly bitter, but there was an edge to it, like maybe he didn't get a say in how much they moved around.
"I've read about your dad," I said, watching his reaction. "He's kind of a big deal."
Carter's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Yeah. He is."
I didn't push further. It was obvious he had mixed feelings about that.
Our conversation stalled as the conveyor belt whirred to life, spitting out suitcases. Mr. Kane stepped forward and retrieved a large, worn leather bag, gripping it like it was something precious. Carter's eyes flicked to it, his shoulders tensing slightly.
I took note of that.
Whatever was in that bag, Carter knew it was important.
I also knew that if someone held onto something that tightly, there was usually a reason. And from the way Julius's eyes kept scanning the crowd, he was expecting trouble.
Mr. Grayson, seemingly oblivious to the tension, clapped his hands together. "Right. Now that we're all here, let's get moving. We've got a busy schedule ahead."
Julius gave a polite smile. "Of course. We should be heading to our accommodations soon, we just have to stop and pick up my Daughter."
Carter glanced at his father, then back at me. There was something unreadable in his expression, like he was trying to decide whether or not I was part of whatever situation they were caught up in.
I had a feeling I'd be finding out soon enough.
We exited the airport and stepped into the cold London air. Carter and his father moved ahead of us toward their taxi, their movements precise and deliberate, like they'd done this a thousand times before.
As I followed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just walked into something bigger than I understood.
We piled into the taxi, the silence stretching between us. Mr. Kane sat in the front, speaking in a low voice to the driver. Mr. Grayson took the seat beside me, his sharp gaze flicking from the street to Julius, his mouth set in a firm, unreadable line.
Carter sat stiffly beside me, his hands resting on his lap like he wasn't sure what to do with them. He kept stealing glances at his father, as if trying to gauge something unsaid.
"So," I said, breaking the silence as we passed Buckingham Palace, "this is normal for you?"
Carter turned to me, brows furrowing. "What?"
I gestured vaguely at the tense atmosphere, the way his father kept checking over his shoulder. "The whole... looking over your shoulder thing. The way your dad moves like he's expecting an ambush. You live like this all the time?"
His fingers curled slightly on his lap. "It's just travel. We move a lot."
"Right." I leaned back against the seat, watching him from the corner of my eye. "And that doesn't bother you?"
He hesitated, like he wasn't sure how much to say. "It's just how it is."
That told me everything I needed to know.
I understood that response. You lived with something for so long that it stopped being something you questioned. It became normal. Carter didn't think of it as strange because he had nothing else to compare it to.
I did.
I'd seen plenty of families in my time at school—normal ones, messy ones, the kind with too many kids and not enough structure. But none of them acted like the Kanes. They weren't fugitives, but they sure moved like them.
I filed that thought away for later.
The city passed in a blur of gray skies and crowded streets. The cab ride was long, long enough for the silence to start feeling weighty. Mr. Grayson, normally the type to fill silences with gruff lectures, kept quiet, watching Mr. Kane as if trying to puzzle him out.
I decided to focus on Carter.
"So, this sister of yours," I said, "what's she like?"
That got an actual reaction. Carter exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "She's... difficult."
I smirked. "Annoying little sister type?"
[Sadie is currently kicking Basil in the shins]
"That's an understatement." He shot me a sideways glance. "You'll see."
I got the feeling he wasn't just being dramatic.
When the taxi finally stopped, we stepped out onto the pavement in front of a housing development by the Thames. The air smelled like damp stone and river water, the wind cutting sharply through the streets. Mr. Kane stepped forward, speaking in hushed tones to the driver before glancing over his shoulder.
Something was off.
I saw it in the way his posture stiffened, in the way Carter's hand twitched toward his side like he was ready to grab something that wasn't there.
Then I spotted the man across the street.
Tall, barrel-shaped, wearing a trench coat and a pinstriped suit. He leaned casually against a dead tree, but something about him was wrong—too still, too focused. His braided hair peeked out from beneath a black fedora, and though I couldn't see his eyes behind those dark glasses, I knew he was watching us.
The air felt heavier.
Mr. Kane tensed. "Carter, go on ahead."
"But—"
"Get your sister. I'll meet you back at the taxi."
I didn't miss the urgency in his voice. Carter hesitated, then nodded, making his way up the walk. I trailed behind him, casting one last glance at the man in the trench coat.
He didn't move. He just watched.
Something told me this was not the first time Mr. Kane had encountered him.
The door opened before Carter could even knock. A girl stood in the doorway, smirking at him like she'd been expecting him to mess up.
Sadie Kane.
She looked nothing like Carter. Where he was stiff and reserved, she was all easy confidence, her caramel-colored hair streaked with red, blue eyes sharp and appraising. She wore jeans, a leather jacket, and combat boots, and she carried herself with the kind of attitude that made it clear she had no interest in being impressed by anyone.
Sadie Kane had a presence.
She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other holding a cat that definitely looked like it had seen things. Muffin, It said on her collar.
She blew a bubble with her gum, popped it, then stared at Carter like he'd already managed to disappoint her by existing.
"Late as usual," she said.
Carter sighed, adjusting his grip on his bag. "Our plane was delayed."
Sadie rolled her eyes, rubbing the cat's head and unceremoniously tossed it inside. Muffin gave an indignant yowl but didn't resist. "Gran, going out!"
From somewhere in the depths of the house, an older woman's voice called something I couldn't make out, but it sounded as though she said don't let them in.
Sadie turned back to us, her blue eyes flicking between Carter and me. She sized me up in an instant, and I got the distinct feeling that I was being silently categorized—tourist, school nerd, possibly annoying.
[Sadie here, he was right, but I also thought he looked like a character off Bridgerton]
"Who's this, then?" she asked, jerking a thumb at me.
I answered before Carter could. "Basil Castellan. I'm with the school group your dad is touring."
She gave me a once-over.
"Great. Another history geek. Just what we needed."
I raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Sadie grinned like I'd just passed some invisible test. "Depends. Are you the fun kind or the Carter kind?"
Carter groaned. "Sadie."
"I'll take that as a no, then," she said, sounding glad to annoy her brother .
Sadie closed the door behind her, regarding Carter as if he were a dead mouse her cat had just dragged in and evaluating me to see whether I was worth talking to. "So, here you are again."
"Yep." Carter said.
"Come on, then." She sighed. "Let's get on with it."
Sadie started down the steps, and I followed.
We'd barely made it three steps before she stopped abruptly; Carter and I nearly bumping into her.
"Who's that?" she asked.
I followed her gaze across the street.
Mr. Kane stood next to a big, leafless tree, talking to the man in the trench coat. The conversation wasn't friendly. Mr. Kane's back was turned, but his gestures were sharp, agitated. The other man—barrel-chested, braided hair peeking out from beneath a black fedora—stood completely still, listening. His expression was unreadable behind those dark glasses, but something about him felt... wrong.
The air around him seemed heavier, like the world was holding its breath.
Carter shifted beside me, like he wanted to step in but knew better.
"Dunno," he said. "He was there when we pulled up."
Sadie frowned. "He looks familiar."
That was interesting. If she recognized him, then this wasn't a random stranger.
"Come on," she said.
"Dad wants us to wait in the cab," Carter interjected, even though he clearly knew it wouldn't do any good.
Sadie ignored him and started walking.
I glanced at Carter. "You're gonna let her just do that?"
He sighed like this happened all the time. "Do I have a choice?"
Fair enough.
I didn't hesitate. If Sadie was going, I was going. Not because I was reckless—because I wanted to know what was going on. My instincts told me Mr. Kane wasn't just an eccentric historian, and I wanted proof.
We crept behind her, keeping low as she darted behind parked cars and a low stone wall that edged the street. The cold London air felt even heavier now, like something unseen was pressing down on my shoulders.
Sadie and I stopped behind the tree just in time to hear Mr. Kane speaking. His voice was low but insistent.
"—have to, Amos. You know it's the right thing."
The other man, Amos, didn't sound convinced. "No. If I don't stop you, Julius, they will. The Per Ankh is shadowing you."
I shot a glance at Sadie. She mouthed, Per what?
Mr. Kane kept his voice calm, but there was steel in it. "They don't know my plan. By the time they figure it out—"
"And the children?" Amos interrupted. His words sent a chill down my spine. "What about them?"
Julius hesitated just a second too long.
"I've made arrangements to protect them, there's been a slight hiccup with Grayson but I know everything will be okay." he said at last. "Besides, if I don't do this, we're all in danger. Now, back off."
Grayson? What did Mr. Grayson have to do with this?
"I can't, Julius."
The shift in Amos's tone was palpable—final, unyielding.
Mr. Kane exhaled sharply, and when he spoke again, his voice had an edge I hadn't heard before. "Then it's a duel you want? You never could beat me, Amos."
A duel? What kind of historians challenge each other to duels? Was Mr. Grayson the kind to do that?
I tensed. If they actually started fighting, there was no telling what would happen. Mr. Kane had a presence—like someone who was used to being obeyed. But this Amos guy... he felt different. Unshakable. Like a man standing between a disaster and the people who couldn't see it coming.
Next to me, Carter seemed frozen in place, his breath barely audible. He must've realized what was happening, but he didn't move to stop it. I wasn't sure if that was because he trusted his father to handle it, or because deep down, he already knew this was bigger than both of us.
Then Sadie did the unthinkable.
She popped up from behind the tree and called out, "Dad!"
Mr. Kane's head whipped around, his expression briefly shifting from anger to shock.
Sadie launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. The sheer force of it nearly knocked him over.
Amos, on the other hand, stumbled back like he'd been struck. His sunglasses had slipped down his nose, revealing startled dark eyes that flicked between Sadie and Mr. Kane. He suddenly looked very unsure of himself.
"I—I must be going," he stammered. He adjusted his glasses, straightened his coat, and turned swiftly on his heel, striding away before anyone could stop him.
Mr. Kane watched him go, his entire body tense. His free hand still hovered inside the workbag slung over his shoulder. It was only when Amos disappeared around the corner that he finally let out a breath and pulled his hand free.
He turned his attention to Sadie, ruffling her hair.
"Hello, sweetheart," he said, with the kind of warmth that suggested he wasn't about to explain any of what had just happened.
Sadie didn't look remotely convinced. She folded her arms, glaring at him. She had the bearing of someone who wasn't going to let this slide. "Oh, now it's sweetheart, is it? You're late. Visitation Day's nearly over! And what was that about? Who's Amos, and what's the Per Ankh?"
Mr. Kane stiffened. His eyes flicked to Carter, then to me, measuring how much we had heard. Whatever answer he was about to give, I already knew it would be a lie.
"It's nothing," he said, his voice too light, too casual. "I have a wonderful evening planned. Who'd like a private tour of the British Museum?"
Right. Because nothing says this is fine like an impromptu museum trip.
Sadie didn't argue, but she slumped into the taxi between Carter and me, her scowl still firmly in place. Mr. Kane sat up front, quiet and unreadable.
Mr. Grayson, however, hadn't moved. He stood by the open door, arms crossed, watching Julius Kane like a wolf assessing another predator. I never noticed till now, but his arms were a lot more muscular than a forty-year-old balding history teacher should be.
"I'm going to check in on Basil's hotel," he said, his voice gruff. "Make sure the arrangements are still in order."
I turned to him, slightly alarmed. "You're leaving?"
"I'll catch up with you later." His dark eyes met mine, and I could tell this was one of those moments where arguing would get me nowhere. This wasn't about my hotel—this was about them. He didn't like whatever was going on here, and he was going to look into it the only way he knew how.
That was both reassuring and vaguely concerning.
Julius nodded, his expression unreadable. "As you wish."
That in itself was strange. Most adults—teachers, chaperones, even school officials—usually deferred to Mr. Grayson. He had the seniority, that weight to him that made people fall in line. But Mr. Kane? He wasn't intimidated. If anything, he treated Mr. Grayson like an equal.
It was weird.
The cab ride to the museum was thick with an unspoken tension. The air outside had turned heavier, the overcast London sky pressing down like a storm about to break. The city lights flickered through the rain-streaked windows, distorting the world outside in watery smears of gold and red.
Sadie slumped beside Carter and I, arms crossed, her scowl deepening with each passing second. She was clearly not thrilled about this.
"I can't believe it," she grumbled. "One evening together, and you want to do research."
Mr. Kane tried for a smile. "Sweetheart, it'll be fun. The curator of the Egyptian collection personally invited—"
"Right, big surprise." Sadie blew a strand of red-streaked hair out of her face. "Christmas Eve, and we're going to see some moldy old relics from Egypt. Do you ever think about anything else?"
Mr. Kane didn't get mad. He just stared out the window at the darkening sky, his fingers tapping absently against his knee.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I do."
The shift in his tone was subtle, but I felt it in my gut. A weight settled over the cab, something unsaid but deeply felt. Carter, who had been mostly silent, stiffened. He knew what his father was thinking about. So did Sadie.
The silence stretched, thick with ghosts.
I got the feeling that I was not meant to be anywhere near here, especially for the conversation that was about to happen.
Our taxi snaked its way along the banks of the Thames. Just past Waterloo Bridge, Mr. Kane tensed.
"Driver," he said. "Stop here a moment."
The cabbie pulled over on the Victoria Embankment.
"What is it, Dad?" Carter asked.
The cab's engine idled softly behind us as the city pulsed with the distant hum of traffic and the lapping of the Thames against the embankment. The damp wind carried the scent of the river, mingling with the faint aroma of exhaust and wet stone.
Mr, Kane barely seemed to notice. He stood transfixed before the obelisk, his head tilted back, gaze locked on its weathered peak as if searching for something beyond its worn hieroglyphs. His fingers twitched at his sides, an absent motion—like he wanted to reach for something and wasn't sure if it would still be there.
Carter was watching him carefully, shifting from foot to foot like he was resisting the urge to say something. I didn't blame him. His dad had been acting weird all night, and this? This felt like a whole new level of off.
Sadie, ever the impatient one, groaned. "Do we have to stop for every monument?"
Julius didn't answer right away. He just kept staring, his voice distant when he finally spoke. "I had to see it again. Where it happened..."
That stopped Sadie short.
She glanced at Carter, who looked just as thrown off as she did. His eyes flicked up at the obelisk, then back to his father.
"Where what happened?" Carter asked his dad.
The cold air pressed against my skin, making my coat feel thinner than it was. The Thames lapped gently against the embankment, a rhythmic whisper against the stone. The city was alive with distant honks and murmurs of people out enjoying their Christmas Eve, oblivious to the strange undercurrents shifting beneath their feet.
But here, in the shadow of Cleopatra's Needle, time felt... wrong. Like the air was thicker, heavier, carrying echoes of something I couldn't quite hear.
Mr. Kane stood with his back to us, silhouetted against the obelisk. His fingers twitched, his shoulders rigid as if he were fighting some unseen force.
Sadie's voice cut through the silence, sharp and disbelieving. "Wait, Do you mean Mum?"
Mr. Kane exhaled, then did something that made Sadie freeze. He brushed her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just slightly before dropping away. For a moment, she didn't push him off, didn't snap at him with a retort. The gesture was too unexpected, too... tender.
I didn't like it. Not because I thought he shouldn't comfort his daughter, but because it felt like a farewell.
The rain, already light, seemed to mist around us instead of falling, suspended in the air like it was waiting for something.
Carter swallowed hard. "You're telling us she died here," he said. "At Cleopatra's Needle? What happened?"
I should not be here.
Mr. Kane didn't answer immediately. His head dipped forward, his jaw tightening.
"Dad!" Sadie snapped. "I go past this every day, and you mean to say—all this time—and I didn't even know?"
I absolutely should not be here.
Mr. Kane turned slightly. "Do you still have your cat?"
Sadie blinked. "What?"
"Your cat," he repeated. "Do you still have it?"
I frowned. That was a weird thing to ask.
Sadie, thrown off, crossed her arms. "Of course I've still got the cat! What does that have to do with anything?"
"And your amulet?"
Sadie's hand went to her neck instinctively, her fingers brushing over something hidden beneath her shirt.
Sadie scowled, clearly confused. "'Course I have it, Dad, but don't change the subject. Gran's always going on about how you caused Mum's death. That's not true, is it?"
The question hung in the air between them.
I had no idea what to do.
I stood there awkwardly, shifting my weight from foot to foot as the Kanes had their intensely personal, borderline cryptic conversation right in front of me. It was like watching a family argument from the sidelines, except I had no idea what was actually being argued about, and I had even less of an idea why I was here. There was no way that this was a normal school trip
Mr. Kane stood before the obelisk, lost in some memory none of us could see. His children, clearly used to this kind of evasiveness, were frustrated in different ways—Carter, tense but quiet, and Sadie, well past the point of patience.
I was somewhere between them, but mostly, I was just... there. Unwanted. Unneeded. And completely out of my depth.
Why the hell am I here for this? I don't personally know these people!
I was about to suggest—stupidly, I'm sure—that maybe we should get moving when Julius spoke again.
"The night your mother died," he started, his voice grave, "here at the Needle—"
A flash of light seared across my vision, so blinding and sudden that I stumbled back, shielding my eyes. It wasn't just the glare of passing headlights. It was unnatural.
For a fraction of a second, I saw them—two figures standing in the dim glow of the streetlamps. One was a tall, pale man with a forked beard, draped in cream-colored robes. The other was a girl, younger, with coppery skin and dark blue robes, her head covered in a scarf. They weren't walking up to us. They weren't approaching. They were just... there, as if they had always been watching.
Then, just as quickly, they were gone. A fuzzy afterimage burned into my sight before the night swallowed them completely.
"Um..." Sadie said, her voice unnervingly small. "Did you just see that?"
Mr. Kane spun on his heel, urgency crackling around him. "Get in the cab," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We're out of time."
Out of time? For what?!
I hesitated. My instincts screamed at me to back away, to let them deal with whatever this was. This was not my problem. I had no stake in this, no reason to be involved in whatever eerie nonsense had just happened.
And yet, as Julius ushered Carter and Sadie toward the waiting cab, I found my feet moving too. I slid in beside Carter, my heart hammering in my chest. Mr. Kane followed, slamming the door shut as if he could keep whatever was out there from following us in.
The cab lurched forward, its tires skidding slightly on the rain-slick pavement as the driver floored it.
Mr. Kane's entire demeanor had shifted. Before, he had been distant, cryptic, lost in thought. Now, he was all sharp angles and tense movements, his gaze flicking to the rear window every few seconds.
Carter, his voice tight, tried to push for answers. "Dad, those people at the river—"
Sadie jumped in. "And that other bloke, Amos. Are they Egyptian police or something?"
Mr. Kane shook his head, not looking at them. "Look, both of you," he said, his voice lower now, more serious. "I'm going to need your help tonight. I know it's hard, but you have to be patient. I'll explain everything, I promise, after we get to the museum. I'm going to make everything right again."
I did not like how that sounded.
Sadie didn't either. "What do you mean, make what right?"
Her father's face darkened. I didn't know much about the Kanes' family history, but something about the way he looked—like the weight of the world was pressing down on him—sent a cold shiver through me.
He was absolutely talking about their mother. The way the silence stretched made it obvious that Carter was thinking the same thing.
The cab swerved onto Great Russell Street, the towering form of the British Museum looming ahead. The driver barely slowed before jerking to a stop in front of the gates.
The cab door slammed behind me as I stepped onto the pavement, the cold air biting through my coat. The towering form of the British Museum loomed over us, its neoclassical columns stark against the darkening sky.
Mr. Kane was already moving, barely sparing a glance as he tossed a handful of small objects—stones?—into the back of the cab. I frowned. That was weird. We were already out of the taxi, and yet the driver nodded as if this was perfectly normal and sped off into the night.
For a split second, I thought I saw movement in the backseat. Three figures—three kids, a man—just sitting there. But that was impossible. The cab had been empty.
A chill crept up my spine.
"Dad—" Carter started, his voice uneasy.
"London cabs don't stay empty for long," Julius said simply. His tone left no room for questions. "Come along, kids."
I exchanged a look with Carter, but he just shook his head, his expression set somewhere between suspicion and resignation. Sadie, less patient, groaned.
"Well, stay out here in the cold if you want, but I'm not leaving without an explanation." She turned and stomped after her father.
Carter hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was debating whether to grab his sister or just let her go. I could tell he wanted to leave—his shoulders were tense, his posture stiff—but he followed.
And because I was apparently making a series of increasingly poor life choices, I followed too.
The museum gates loomed ahead, their wrought iron bars stark against the museum's floodlit facade. Standing just inside, watching us approach with a look of profound disapproval, was Mr. Grayson.
My stomach sank.
I wasn't sure why, but he seemed to be watching me just a little too closely, like he was waiting for me to slip up.
His arms were crossed as we approached, his brow furrowing deeper with each step. His gaze flicked from me to Julius Kane, then to Carter and Sadie, as if trying to piece together what, exactly we had been doing.
"Mr. Grayson," I greeted, forcing a pleasant smile.
He didn't return the sentiment. "You're late."
He turned his attention to Julius. "Dr. Kane." His tone was polite, but guarded. "We are far too deep into our endeavors for you to cause slip ups."
Julius offered a tight smile. "I know, Mr. Grayson."
Mr. Grayson's frown deepened. He looked me over once more, then let out a breath. "I suppose I shouldn't be too worried, things shall be set into place soon."
I blinked. "Into what, exactly?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he motioned for us to follow and led the way toward the museum doors.
As we stepped inside, the air changed. The hush of the museum was thick, pressing in on all sides, as if the weight of history itself had settled over the halls. Marble floors gleamed under the dim lighting, and glass cases stretched into the distance, each holding relics older than I could comprehend.
Mr. Grayson fell into step beside me, his voice low. "Stay close," he muttered. "And whatever you do, don't leave my side."
That did nothing to make me feel better.
*
*
*
*
DGW: Thank you all for reading, I truly hope you enjoyed the story and have any suggestions for what should go on. I'm merging the book and show appearances (i.e; eyes and hair) The timeline for this book is that it takes place the same year as the Sea of Monsters. So after this story I will likely have Basil interact with that book... probably.
Tools Used: FANDOM WIKI app, Grammarly, Theoi.com, Wikipedia, google pdf, some manga sites.
Word Count: 7070