📍LONDON, ENGLAND
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Strolling through the loud and crowded streets of the city of London was already hard enough, but it was even harder for (Y/N) and Layla when they had absolutely no clue of where their missing person could be. Each woman rode on their own motorbike through the city and countless hours seemed to go by without finding any leads.

(Y/N) was starting to give up even if a part inside of her wished that she didn't. She and Layla had already done enough in trying to find Marc, but it all seemed to be hopeless effort until now. She was driving her own motorbike through another street, her eyes busy on the countless buildings to find any sort of clue until she heard Layla beside her press on the break of her motorbike and stop.

The first thing that (Y/N) did was frown and gave Layla a raised eyebrow of confusion since she didn't understand her sudden stop until (Y/N) spotted a man on the ground a few inches close to the motorbike. She was about to get down from her own motorcycle and help the poor man, but that's when she noticed who it was and Layla's sudden gasp.

"Marc?" Layla was the first to speak and look down at him since (Y/N) was still speechless. "Where have you been?"

He removed his hands from his head and with hesitance looked up to the two women that were staring down at him. "(Y/N)?" He muttered in confusion, still having the same accent she'd heard on the phone.

Layla shared a suspicious look with (Y/N), silently telling her to be careful as the latter offered him to ride on the back of her motorcycle since he seemed like he could break down in tears in any given moment. He insisted that his name was Steven, much to (Y/N)'s confusion, and he stared down at her with much unfamiliarity in her eyes.

"What the hell is going on? Is this Steven the latest fake identity for you?" Layla said as she drove besides (Y/N), who had to keep a slow and steady speed because of how 'Steven' grasped onto her body when she sped up. "We figured you were using a coded message when you spoke with (Y/N) on the phone."

"How did you find me?" Steven questioned, his grip on (Y/N)'s shoulders growing tighter.

"I came up with the idea to track your phone," (Y/N) explained. "I thought it was the easiest way to find you and that's what you wanted me to do."

"Right. Yeah."

"You really scared the life out of me, you know? You could've at least given me a sign that you were alive," (Y/N) continued and kept her eyes on the road. "I thought you were dead, or worse, kidnapped. Again."

"I kept reassuring her, 'He's got the suit. He's fine'," Layla proceeded to speak up, flicking her gaze from the road to look back at the bike that (Y/N) and Steven were on. "But then a thought came into mind, 'What if he gets ambushed when he's not wearing it?' or 'What if — "

"I know we're close, but can you stop clasping my shoulder like that?" (Y/N) interrupted and looked behind her shoulder to give him a look.

"I don't know where to hold!" he defended and removed his hands from her shoulder.

"It's like you're riding with a Victorian duchess," Layla teased on and (Y/N) gave her a glare.

"Where do I hang on?" Steven raised his hands in the air and searched for any spot to place his hands back down, the only available spot being (Y/N)'s waist. He already felt awkward about the whole situation but it got ten times worse when she smacked his hand away like his hands had burned her.

"You had me loosing my mind for months, you understand?" (Y/N) continued like nothing ever happened, pretending like she didn't just smack Steven's hand away a few seconds ago. "I'm your friend, I thought we could trust each other."

He froze from his seat behind her and stayed silent, like he didn't believe her words. (Y/N) pretended to hide the hurt in her eyes as she kept her gaze forward but Layla knew her long enough to notice the signs that she was upset.

"By the way, this would be a great time for you to say something. Anything," Layla spoke up with a much firm tone than before. "Just in case it's not clear."

"Sorry, sorry. . .did you say we were friends? Are. . .we are close?" he muttered in a tone of disbelief.

"Look, I'm pretty sure we lost whoever was chasing you. Just drop the act," Layla insisted.

"It's not an act. I — "

"What's with the accent, again?" (Y/N) cut in, turning her head back to face him.

"This is how I talk."

"Okay," (Y/N) sighed and dropped her shoulders. "Get off the bike."

"No, no, no. Wait, wait, wait. Please," Steven panicked, trying to reason with her before she stopped in the side of the road. His eyes were pleading and his voice was laced with desperation. "Please, I will tell you everything just get me to my flat, yeah? Just get me home."

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(Y/N) and Layla did as he told. They both took his directions over to his supposed flat, though (Y/N) could sense a hint of hesitation in Layla's eyes once they parked on the side of a hidden building of the city and crept inside after Steven. The building was nice, though it wasn't the fanciest building in the world, but it certainly caught (Y/N)'s eye.

Steven took the keys of his flat and unlocked the door, allowing both women to step in before he stepped in and locked the door behind him. His eyes followed (Y/N)'s form while she inspected the place with interest until her eyes caught sight of the fish tank sat in the middle of the flat.

(Y/N) smiled at the golden fish peacefully swimming in the fish tank and she leaned down to have her face closer to the fish tank. "Hello," she whispered softly and gave a wave at the fish like it could respond back.

Steven placed his keys on a table and was lucky enough to hear her whisper, resisting the urge to smile as she kept her gaze fixed on the tank until he spotted Marc's reflection leaning down across from her and stare at her with sad eyes.

"She shouldn't be here. Neither of them should," Marc told him with his eyes not moving from (Y/N). "Get her out of here, Steven. You're way out of your depth."

"I just want my life back," Steven breathed out loud.

(Y/N) got to her full height after hearing his words and crossed her arms. "Yeah, that much we figured."

"No," Steven instantly panicked and tried to explain himself. "Sorry, I wasn't talking to you, just talking to myself. Sort of."

Layla inspected the flat further and was the first one to notice the bed with an ankle restrain resting on the covers. "Uh, this is your flat, Marc?"

"Um, I'm Steven."

"Are you living here with someone else?"

"No, no, no. No, this is my mum's flat."

(Y/N) frowned at his words, since that didn't make much sense considering what he confessed to her a while back. She knew that Marc wasn't the biggest fan of talking about what happened, and she didn't knew the exact details, she just knew that he didn't have the best relationship with his mother and that was something him and (Y/N) bonded over when they first met.

"Really?" she asked. "You're talking to each other again?"

"Mmm-hmm."

(Y/N) caught up with Layla further into the flat, and she was about to comment on something because of the ankle restrain when she spotted the amount of books stacked all over a bookshelf beside her. Some of the books were stacked horizontally and others vertically, but one that caught her eye was a book with a dirty yellow cover.

"Stéphane Mallarmé?" (Y/N) questioned incredulously, grabbing the book with care in her hands.

Layla followed her eye of sight and frowned too, flicking her gaze from between him and (Y/N). Steven hummed and began to recite the poem fluently, and (Y/N) joined him halfway through with her eyebrows still furrowed in confusion.

"Oui, oui," Steven said with a weak laugh when they came to an end. "He's my favorite poet."

"What a coincidence, he's my favorite," By now, (Y/N) was eyeing him suspiciously with her eyes moving up and down his form.

"That's mental," Steven replied.

Layla's eyes trailed off to the desk filled with countless of other books spread all over it, some stacked while others were opened halfway through. The desk was right in front of the window, which helped (Y/N) in seeing what the open books were about, and all shared the same topic; Ancient Egypt.

"So, you're learning French and hieroglyphics?" Layla inquired, eyeing the books on the desk.

"Yeah, well. . .That's not that impressive, really," Steven shrugged off and joined their side in front of the desk. "It's not like hieroglyphs are a whole language. It's more like a — "

"Like an alphabet," Layla and (Y/N) answered at the same time, already knowing about this.

Steven nodded. "Yeah, and. . . well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it."

"Sure."

"For example, like this one here, right?" Steven gestured to one of the pages of the books with his finger.

(Y/N) leaned over to see it. "Funeral rites."

"Well, someone knows their unilaterals," Steven laughed softly before pointing at her. "You. That's amazing."

Layla let out a sarcastic laugh while eyeing both Steven and (Y/N) carefully, backing away to give them some space even though she was still confused herself. (Y/N) avoided his gaze while staring down at her feet and crossed her arms.

"Sorry, I don't mean that in a creepy way," Steven jumped to defend his words.

"No, it's just that — " (Y/N) was about to speak when her words turned into a coughing fit.

She raised her elbow to cover herself and backed away from the desk and Steven to avoid his eyes but it was too late, since a frown took over his features instantly. Layla, on the other hand, instantly rushed to her side and placed a hand on (Y/N)'s back to calm her down as always.

"I think it's time for the pill already," Layla spoke softly, easily forgetting about Steven's presence. "You have it?"

"Pill?" Steven's frown deepened and walked over to the two, easily catching sight of Marc on the small mirror in the wall, wearing a similar expression to his. "What pill?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, Steven," Marc said from the mirror. "You stormed out before I could explain."

"It's nothing," (Y/N) excused and reached for her pocket to find her pill, one that didn't cure her, but only reduced the symptoms for a while. "Allergies, 's all, you know?"

Marc scoffed. "No, it's not."

"Are you okay?" Steven stepped closer.

"She shouldn't be here," Marc insisted. "You shouldn't have brought her into this. She's gotten worse."

Steven's questions about what happened increased at Marc's words, and he was too busy listening to him ramble in his head that he didn't hear how (Y/N)'s coughs died out and how she was panting to catch her breath, leaning over to Layla for support.

"This wasn't a good idea. We should leave," Layla muttered and kept her hand on (Y/N)'s back to stop her from collapsing.

"No!" Steven exclaimed, and he was the most surprised because of his outburst. "Look, you seem absolutely lovely. This Marc, on the other hand, is a right twit. Yeah?"

He eyed the mirror on the wall to see how Marc lowered his head in what seemed to be shame or tiredness, not wanting to hear what Steven was going to say. "I don't know how to explain what's been happening."

"Steven — "

"I don't expect you to believe me — "

"Steven, listen to me — "

"I honestly don't really believe myself," Steven continued and slowly moved back, and the women followed him with their eyes. "All I can do is try to — "

"You're making a mistake — "

" — try to show you what I found."

"Steven — "

"I found this bag in the storage locker."

"Steven, don't — listen to me."

Steven reached out to open the duffel bag. "Inside of it is all sorts — "

"Stop what you're doing right now."

" — of things."

"Don't show them what's in the bag."

"Most interestingly — "

"You're gonna get her killed. You hear me?" Marc's voice boomed loudly in his head, and that's what finally made Steven freeze in his tracks.

"Most interestingly is what?" Layla urged him to continue because of his abrupt stop.

"You show them that scarab, you're responsible when they come after Layla and take (Y/N) away," Marc continued.

Steven thought of his next words. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" (Y/N) removed herself from Layla's hand on her back as she stepped forward.

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Never mind."

"What's in there?" she kept pressuring.

"Nothing. Wait, wait — "

(Y/N) rummaged through the duffel bag while Layla pushed Steven out of the way and heard him clatter on the table with a sigh. (Y/N) stuck her hand inside the bag until she felt something light and small in her hand and she took her hand out to see what it was.

"The scarab pointing to Ammit's ushabti?" Layla gasped. "What the three of us have fought side by side for."

"No — "

"This whole one-man show is just what?" Layla raised her voice, her angry glare fixed on him. "So that you can keep it to yourself?"

"No. I swear — "

"I'm supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in a stupid gym bag?" (Y/N) defended.

"Take it. Take it, you can have it," he insisted, stepping forward with slow steps. "Take it. I don't want it. I don't want it. I swear. Have it."

"I am not Marc Spector," he reasoned, and his voice gave a slight crack in the end. "I'm Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop. Well, I used to work in a gift shop. And I think I'm in real danger, and I think maybe that you might be the only people that can help me. Please."

"You really don't remember why we've been looking for this?" (Y/N) stared at him with sad eyes and it was something he didn't want to see again. "Our adventures? Or the life we built together?"

"Oh, God, I wish I could."

A knock on the door cut the conversation short, and the trio froze in their spot to hear how a woman spoke from the other side of the flat. "Steven Grant, can we have a word?"

Steven gestured towards the door to prove his point and identity, his eyes widening when he realized what was the meaning behind it. "See? Oh, Go, they've come for me."

"Why?"

"I vandalized the toilet."

The knocking on the door continued and it increased in its volume, the people behind the door were probably desperate and didn't have time to mess around.

"Yeah, just a minute," Steven called out.

"Steven Grant?" the woman insisted.

"Yeah?"

"DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy here."

"Yeah, one second," Steven took his time to unlock all of the different locks on the door and opened the door enough for his face to be seen.

Layla and (Y/N) knew they couldn't stay inside any longer and searched for a place to hide, but since officers were about to inspect the flat, there was a high probability that they would find them if they didn't find a good spot.

"Hello, officers," Steven's voice began to grow faint as (Y/N) began to walk away behind Layla.

Layla slid the window open and quickly stepped outside to the roof, making sure she had a firm grip on the bricks before she gestured to (Y/N) to follow her lead. Both women crawled out of sight just in time as Kennedy and Fitzgerald entered the messy flat.

(Y/N) heard Steven ramble about something to the officers but didn't pay that much importance until one of them peeked her head out the window to check outside before whirling on her heel. Both nearly slipped on the tiles of the roof because of the surprise, but were able to get away from the place without getting spotted.

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