Chapter 12: Trust Rowen Bates

• 𓎬 ☼ 𓋹⋅☾𓂀 ☽⋅𓋹 ☼ 𓎬 •

Rebecca I

2014 - London

Rebecca Hutman always thought of having a perfectly normal life. With a job at the museum with a reasonable wage; maybe a feline companion if she had the time to spend at her apartment; and perhaps a decent boyfriend who didn't think of her as someone obsessed with the dead. 

She's probably ticked about two of those things (not the companion one since having to babysit a museum filled with animals and exhibits were enough, a cat was just going to add onto the list).

Unless Larry Daley did secretly think she was obsessed with the dead. And even then, he couldn't say anything considering how his closest friends nowadays have been a wax president, a mummy and a poly-resin Native American woman (who are also her friends as well). 

However, despite ticking most of her mental boxes, normal was perhaps the wrong word to describe what her life has been for the past eight years. Nobody with a normal life didn't have to spend nights at a museum discussing history with the Sacagawea; or having to buy fifty packets of microwaveable popcorn for the exhibits' movie night. Nobody wouldn't usually just talk about their issues with an immortal woman and a pharaoh mummy like it was some therapy session. No: this wasn't normal to the average human being living on this earth.

It's why it took her a couple of years to get her head around this all. To bring all of this; this secret of the museum coming to life into her life was much like getting hit with a wave at the beach.

And it all began in meeting the man that now laid in the hospital bed beside her.

Larry Daley was the most ordinary man she ever met, and yet he was blanketed by the world of unordinary and showered by the unknown forces. Not that it was an insult. In fact: it was a blessing. To share the abnormal with someone normal was at least something that kept herself firm on the floor - to feel that even if it's strange: she wouldn't be alone in it. Not to mention, seeing the man for the first time awkwardly greet himself in front of her caught her staring at his blue-grey eyes, and that chiselled jaw could cut someone. He was every man's dream of handsome and made her heart flutter when she wakes up by his side. 

However, it wasn't all just his looks. In fact, it was far from it. As much as her biological instinct being attracted to an attractive man, for Rebecca: it was all about his personality. His resilience and eagerness. His ambition. But most importantly, his creativity. She never knew how he could think of things so easily when it takes her ten minutes to decide what to wear for the day despite her limited wardrobe. He could think of things on what to create, or do or even give. Like showing the exhibits how to play modern games or create contraptions to keep the animals tamed in their halls. How he could keep an entire museum from...basically setting itself on fire. 

He wasn't a leader. Well, not like what a leader would assume to be such as a general like Octavius or the president like Teddy Roosevelt. No, Rebecca saw Larry lead in an entirely different way. He thought of ways to unite the exhibits, to bring together what all of them would enjoy the most and let them bond over it. 

That was what Rebecca loved about Larry. 

When she first brought Larry to her parents for dinner, Larry had easily drawn them around his finger. They loved Larry to some extent, intrigued by his business and yet unsure by his erratic nature of changing careers. She wasn't surprised; her parents were sometimes difficult and not as opened minded as before. Just like the history books she's read, they were stagnant and stubborn to change.

Her father was the most concerned. Of course, being the youngest of three, she was supposed to the baby of the group. And to finally let go of that last link to be with a man that was slowly becoming more than she expected shouldn't have been an easy yet.

And yet there was a ring on her finger.

It daunted her. Marriage wasn't on her list when she decided to become a historian. No one wanted a boring bookworm obsessed with the dead. Even her older sister and brother admitted that they were surprised Larry Daley stayed. Even herself. 

With all these adventures. With Larry being around the magic of it all: he should have picked someone much more special than her.

But then again. Her mother did tell something that implemented her importance. Whilst she wanted a man that swept her off her feet, Larry Daley wanted a woman that would keep him from running into danger. 

An anchor, her mother told her when Rebecca showed the engagement ring to her family. And that was practically a month ago. 

Both she and Larry knew their boundaries. They knew when it was too far and when one needed to approach the other and tell them to stop. She wondered why Erica accepted to leave him when she could see clearly he was a good man.

And that was it. He was a good man. Too good for his own that he didn't realise how much it could hurt himself and others. His own ambition and determination to do what he believes is right were what made him fall.

And it was what ended him here, in a hospital bed in London - strapped in with a drip and needle and machines that checked his vitals every second time passes.

It was the loyalty that brought him here, which in the end: showed Rebecca the truth. The naked and hurtful truth of loving this man could end up loving a dead man in the end.

Rebecca has almost lost herself the moment she cradled his head in her arms; with his body bleeding before him. Dirty, blood-stained and exhausted: she sat on the pavement with Larry in her arms with tears flowing down her face and snot building up as she wept and begged for him to wake up. She didn't leave his side at all times, never shutting her eyes for a few seconds as the surgery occurred. His life was hanging on a singular rope that was about to snap.

And when that rope snapped, it was like losing all light and life.

Larry had been dead for a minute.

A minute that Rebecca lost all ability to stand or breathe or think.

It was there all dreams of her future with this man had begun to slip away. Her thoughts of seeing him at the altar, to speak their vows and to kiss in front of all their friends and family. To settle down and do the job they love. To watch Nick graduate at university; to give him a brother or sister. A family of their own. It was all gone.

Until she saw the glimpse of a heartbeat. It was so small and short that no one could have predicted it would indicate him to live.

She had cried. Happiness: yes. Anger: perhaps. Angry at what: she wasn't sure. She should be angry at the man that shot Larry. She should be angry at Larry himself: who ran off because he wanted to be a hero. Angry at Rowen: for not being there on time. Angry at herself: for giving herself her own pain in her heart.

And then all of that anger and pain subsided the moment she saw Nick Daley slump on the hospital chair in relief. She forgot the one person that was the most important to Larry Daley. His son.

Nick Daley: the one that was the driving force to Larry Daley's life as to now. It was why he even got the nightguard position in the first place. Not her, or Rowen or the exhibits; him. His son. The one person that has led Larry to firmly place himself into the magical life and brought him back to save the museum eight years ago. He could have easily accepted to leave the museum Dr McPhee fired him, but instead, he stayed that third night to show his son that the exhibits really came to life.

She was surprised that a single father would fathom to date her in the first place. He never thought of the drawbacks of having a kid, in fact, that was the first thing Larry told her. His love for his son was what kept him going and it was something that sent her heart swelling. 

The first few times together were awkward at first. Nick and Rebecca were polar opposites to what they enjoyed. Whilst Nick loved his games and his computers and loud music, Rebecca preferred the simplicity of books and the radio charts. Though what bonded them was their admittance to keep Larry firmly on the ground when it came to his mind. They agreed that only one of them couldn't keep the man from being spontaneous and crazy and it led to them making sure he was fed and spoken to enough that it reminded him that the real world was still here. 

Not to mention that they even had to take care of Rowen sometimes was even a thing to add on their list of people to care for. Those two for the first few years since the museum coming to life for them had never stopped working. It had been their job to keep them functioning to an extent on top their own life. And Rebecca was glad that they did.

Slowly, she and Nick became friends until she began to feel that sense of motherly instinct growing. Even though she wasn't Nick's mother, and knowing about Erica: she would never become the mother figure in Nick's life. It will always be Erica. 

However, it didn't stop her from caring for the teenager. He was a part of her life as much as his to hers. And to experience a parent horribly go through the pain should have traumatised Nick Daley.

Instead, he was there by her side. She made sure he was there. She hugged him as he cried when the doctors took his dad away to surgery. She made sure they both ate something and drank enough or sleep. It was why when Larry first woke up, she was glad Nick was asleep. He hadn't slept for 24 hours and the boy had been sleeping in the worst place possible - a chair.

Despite Rowen offering to drive them back to her house for the evening, both of them declined and told her they would stay until he was stable. If they were desperate they would stay over at the cheap hotel near the hospital, which they had to do as they had been wearing blood-stained clothes for hours.

The morning after Larry woke up, she and Nicky returned to the hospital. Larry was still asleep when they got there, so the room had been fill with nothing but machines beeping and the occasional steps of shoes. Nurses and doctors came in and out, checking how he was doing and they were impressed by how he was healing unbelievably well.

Midday arrived, and Rebecca had slipped away to grab some food. One thing's for sure, she had to thank the UK for not crippling her credit card. The burden of having to pay for keeping his heart beating gone was what relieved Rebecca as she bought a decent meal for her and Nick. She shuddered to think if this happened in New York.

Even then, money wasn't her priority. She would rather lose money than life.

When she returned, she wasn't surprised to see Larry still asleep. Nick was sitting on the chair beside the bed, eyes constantly flickering from his phone screen to Larry every other thirty seconds. He wore bags under his eyes, yawning as he stretched. Rebecca wore a worried look at him, as she placed the orange juice bottle and sandwich packet on the bedside table. She then pulled another chair and began taking her own sandwich out but never brought to open it.

She hoped Nick would stop and actually eat, though, after two minutes of biting into a mediocre BLT, the sandwich was left untouched. His eyes were still trained on his phone until he saw her staring back.

She said softly back, encouraging him. "You've got to eat Nick." She nudged her chin to his food.

Nick lowered his hand and then eyed her meal. She hadn't opened it yet. He replied, "You too, Becca. I..."

She realised how hypocritical she was. And she took a shallow breath in. Nick had stared at his dad. He wanted to see his dad awake, but he didn't want to wake Larry up just to talk to him. "I know," Rebecca added, sending Nick almost looking away - anywhere other than herself and Larry.

He wore an expression of guilt when he spoke, "It was my fault. I...I should have warned him."

A surge of emotion almost sent her flying out of her chair and hugging Nick tightly. Rebecca refrained herself and leaned over, placing a hand over his. Why did he blame himself for what happened? Nothing could have been done.

"None of it was our fault, okay?" She said, meaning to stress every word. "Your dad wanted to catch him. He was only doing it to save the exhibits."

A tear fell his cheek and he wiped it with the hand she had just held. He placed his phone on the bedside table before adjusting his hoodie.

"...Sometimes I don't know if it's my fault that he in this," Nick whispered, staring down at Larry once more.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

Nick explained, "If I didn't suggest him to come back to the museum, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe we could have been a normal family, you know. You and Dad would have already been married years ago if this didn't go on."

Her heart broke once she heard those words leave his mouth. She curled her fingers, biting her lip to stop herself from feeling her eyes wet.

She had to be brave for him. Nick was just a boy, who had almost lost his dad. Erica wasn't here to be the mom he needed. So here she was instead, someone who wasn't ready at all to become a mother figure and a wife. 

Rebecca wondered how Rowen and Larry could do it: to be responsible for a child. To someone, they have born from love. From what she's heard (and barely anything from Rowen until a recent couple of years), they weren't ready to become parents. Their children had grown up with a complicated relationship despite them loving each other. 

So why was she stressing so much to care for a teenager? It should be easy. Nick was practically an adult, with a life of his own and his own ability to reason and to talk back. Here she was: stuck and unsure what to say. What if she says something wrong? What if she lost Nick's trust? 

'But it's better to say something than to say nothing,' She thought. Nick was at the point in his life that the world was coming to hit him with a bat and show that life wasn't a simple linear progression. He needed confidence and he needed assurance that he shouldn't regret the actions that have brought them here.

"Nick. You're upset, I know." She answered, the courage slowly gained from her patience. Nick was brought to her attention, staring at her with the blue eyes she saw in Larry's. 

He was much like his father, but he was entirely his own person.

"But you have to understand," She continued, holding her hand firmly on his once more. "Your dad loves the museum. He loves every person and exhibits there. That's why he did it. You wouldn't be you now without them either. Don't regret anything that you've done. Regret just leads to pain, and you shouldn't regret the happiness you and your dad gained these years."

Nick stayed quiet, seeping in what she said.

In honesty, she was impressed at what she even said. She meant every word, though. 

As she let go of his hand, she let him ponder on what she spoke - opening the sandwich and beginning to eat. She twitched her lips, smiling inwardly as she took her own meal and began to eat quietly.

"I imagine I've interrupted something."

Her head flicked around, and she was relieved to see another familiar face. Rowen appeared much like herself - exhausted. She wore a trucker jacket, blouse and jeans, perfect for the temperate weather outside. Unlike the usual heels she wore, she had worn some canvas shoes that looked too new and uncomfortable to wear. The immortal woman was not someone who wore casual to a sense modern people meant as casual. Her casual was still classy and sophisticated.

So it meant something must have triggered Rowen Bates to wear Vans out of nowhere. But Rebecca didn't mention it, only eyeing the shoes before getting a raised eyebrow back at her.

She wasn't going to pry.

"Not at all." Rebecca shook her head before asking: "How're the exhibits?" She gestured for the spare chair which she sat before, perching now on Larry's bed whilst he slept soundly.

Rowen thanked her, sitting down with a relieving sigh. "I didn't stay for too long. I needed to contact the board to say that the Tablet's returned. And also with the tabloids and such." She rubbed her temples with her hand. "Police are on it as well and the papers are demanding a message from me."

"Shit. That's a lot." Rebecca raised her eyebrows, before asking in confusion. "Why are you here then?"

"Because you're more important right now." Rowen smiled, glancing at Larry and Nick. She then turned to Rebecca and added, "Well, obviously the exhibits are important, but I can trust the exhibits in protecting the damn thing. I...I can't trust the hospital in keeping Larry safe."

Rebecca gulped, turning back to look over at the father and son. She wanted to share to Rowen what happened the past few hours. She wanted to tell her how much this was giving her and Nick a toll of their heart.

Luck came to her when Nick excused him to go to the toilet, leaving with the click of the door. When she was sure he was gone, Rebecca exhaled raggedly.

"I...I don't know what to do, Rowen. And with Nicky." She confessed, telling Rowen the truth. "He blames himself for letting Larry go back to the museum after the Smithsonian."

Rowen gazed at her in confusion, furrowing her eyebrow as she replied. "But it's not his fault. Surely he knows that."

"That's what I said," Rebecca replied, sighing in exasperation. Her food could wait. "But, he's eighteen years old and he just witnessed his dad almost die." 

She saw Rowen's eyes almost flash, almost reminiscing something similar. Had she lost someone as well? Rowen hardly spoke of her daughter, and almost assumed she was alive. Even Larry or the exhibits didn't know about her all apart from Ahkmenrah.

But then again, she was over two hundred years old - she would have lost many that were dear to her, which made it even worse to feel sad about herself. Rebecca realised another thing as well. Would Rowen see them gone as well?

"I...no one should be able to see things. Not like this." Rebecca finished, putting away the horrible thought.

"No. No one should." Rowen adjusted her spot and cleared her throat. "But I know that right now, we focus on keeping Larry safe for the time being. I'm just surprised he got through."

The tone of her voice sent Rebecca straightening her back  "Really?" Rebecca said.

"Getting shot in the worse place possible should have killed him." Her friend huffed and then gestured to Larry. "But miracles happen. The Daleys seem to have it."

Rebecca saw the smile smirk form on Rowen's lips and she followed suit with her own smile as she looked down. She forgot how much her friend knew about the Daleys, having known Larry's grandfather and being best friends throughout their life. She wondered if Rowen saw him as a friend or a kid? Did they ever meet when Larry was a kid?

Her own thoughts had her almost missing the said woman stand up and walk over to the door. 

Rebecca turned and questioned her, "Where are you going then?"

"I need to take care of someone first," Rowen answered, her serious facade returning.

"His wife." Rebecca realised and slowly spoke out the name. "Leslie right? Did she know?"

She had seen the red-haired woman briefly. At the bridge. She was about to grab the gun and aim it at her hadn't Rowen pulled her back and the cops arrived. That had sent her heart dropping, coldness shattering through. She thought she was going to shoot her.

But hearing her scream. It was hearing a thousand mirrors shatter.

Even though her husband shot Larry: Larry was alive and breathing and Trench wasn't. She had just lost her husband, shot by an unknown bullet. It wasn't Larry. Larry could not aim at all and hardly practised using a gun. 

But Leslie Carter didn't know that. She didn't even know who had shot her husband.

All that anger, however: had to go somewhere. And that seemed to be at Larry, her, Nick and Rowen. Especially at Larry.

"No. But it's best to keep away from her for a while. For your sake, I mean." Rowen paused, before adding. "I think she's here."

"Where?" Rebecca asked, more aware of what she had been discussing.

"Morgue." 

"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have asked." She shuddered. It would seem all pleasing looks at the sandwich in her hand had immediately dissipated.

Rowen wryly replied, ignoring her soured expression. "Hopefully she's still here. I saw her come in this morning and hoped I'd catch her up."

"Okay. Call me when you're leaving." Rebecca assured her. "I think we'll stay here tonight and we'll come back to yours in the morning."

With a nod of agreement, Rowen bid her farewell to go after her friend. At the same time, Nick had returned, finally realising how starved he was and eating his food in five minutes. 

As for her, her sandwich was left out - making Nick give her an odd look. 

He asked, "Are you not finishing it?"

"No, no." She shook her head and passed the sandwich to him to which he gladly took. Rebecca gave a grim look and spoke, "I just don't feel hungry anymore."

• 𓎬 ☼ 𓋹⋅☾𓂀 ☽⋅𓋹 ☼ 𓎬 •

Leslie VIII

2014 - London

He said he was only going to work, meet up with some colleagues. He told her he would be back in the evening to whisk her away for dinner by the Thames, an evening walk by the river before heading back to the hotel.

Instead, she spent the morning shopping before spotting a television screen showing BBC News live in London. A bird's eye view of the Westminster Bridge and people running away as gunshots rumbled out. People had crowded around to watch, before she found herself pulled to stare at the screen.

People screaming in the shaking camerview. It was a live video from a phone, showing one side of the bridge. The person had sent a video to the news company before an overall live broadcast entered the scene.

However, it didn't take long to see the familiar face flash over her eyes.

Leslie Carter's heart had stopped beating.

Then the thrumming began. She dumped all of her bags before running up to hail a cab, asking the driver to take her somewhere close to Westminster. When she got there, it felt like walking into a nightmare. She felt her feet dragging the rest of her body until she couldn't hold herself up anymore and collapsed in front of his body.

Her husband was dead. Those dark brown eyes that she always woke up to; she would never be able to see them by her side again. She would never get to watch them peer over his book in the library or stare at her as she walked into the room. She would never be able to admire how they lit up everytime she complimented him, or how they would bring so much happiness.

Now it almost seemed these past years have left her wondering if they were all real.

Three days ago, she had been standing in front of a pane of glass looking at herself. Yesterday, she had been standing in front of a pane of glass looking at an operation room.

Today, she was here in the morgue.

Leslie had lost all feeling of her mind and body since they took his body on the ambulance. Her jacket and clothes were stained with blood as they took her to the police. They asked her questions with endless repetition to which she could almost recite the same response over and over again. Journalists filing to find her walking into the hospital to just get a glimpse of her face. A simple American woman who was just a doctor. But one title stuck out to them all.

The Terrorist's Wife.

A sickening feeling bleched when she first heard that name, willing to throw up right then and there on the pavement when a photographer flashed at her. She thanked the police for at least being decent human beings despite all of the interrogating, shooing away the pesky ants until there was nothing left but her. It took three days for the press to stop pestering her, and she was left having to leave her hotel with some security of disguise. Luckily nobody had discovered where she was staying, and those that eyed her didn't bat an eye.

But now: they knew everything about her now. The world and the web. How Garret Trench, a graduate historian stolen a priceless artefact from the British Museum and proceeded to end his life with killing as much as possible. How Leslie Trench didn't know of her husband's scheming and wasn't sure of the motive. How her friend's friend was caught in the crossfire during the run-in at the bridge.

The question was why? Why did he do it? Why did he do something so ridiculously reckless? She knew Garret was sensible and smart - obviously the main things she loved him for. He aimed for the better for them and was always proud of her for being a doctor and all.

Was it money? Was he paranoid that he wasn't getting the income they needed? Leslie shook her head and slapped herself mentally. They had a conversation about money and they both were well off.

The next reason would have to be that someone threatened him to do it. Someone from New York perhaps? Or maybe someone that came from S.H.A. There were too many open possibilities that could have happened that there was no indication of where to start it all. She wasn't someone that ran towards the head into danger let alone choosing a path to get revenge.

No: that wasn't her. Even if her anger was aimed at the people that were left with her husband on the bridge.

Especially the man that was bleeding beside him. Who had the artefact and the gun by his side, with blood in his hands.

Larry Daley had shot him, and no matter how much people told her he was innocent - Leslie saw the guilt laid across them all. It was his fault for being there, and for getting out alive was the universe's plan to laugh back at her.

That a man was spared, but not hers.

Leslie exhaled, unfolding her arms out and took out her phone from her pocket. She had Kai and Hailey call her multiple times, often ending the conversation in tears before the next one would come. She felt neither comforted nor assured no matter how her friends and co-workers soothed her with their voices. 

But finding a miscall from Rowen made her look away is disgust before tucking in the phone and bury it to the bottom. She wasn't going to call her and she wasn't going to talk to Rowen after what occurred.

It was then in the corner of her eye down the corridor, she saw a shade of ginger hair and the silhouette of a familiar black trench coat - something that wasn't needed at this season. However, Leslie knew that exact item of clothing from anywhere.

Facing her, her chest tightened at the sight - seeing that face she hadn't seen in several months. 

"...Mom?" Her voice trembled before stumbling into the woman's arms with sobs.

Leslie cried over Irene Carter's shoulder, grasping her body like she was holding onto a tree trunk. With eyes shut, she let go of the pain that had nestled in her body for days - only to let the one person she could believe in now to have it.

Her mother gently rubbed her back with her hand in a circular motion, humming a gentle tune. "Oh, darling. My darling Rose. I'm so sorry."

More tears came down until she could control them on her own as she pulled away and wiped them roughly with the palm of her hand. With lips wobbling, she then said confusedly: "Mom...what are you doing here." Leslie continued. "You said...You said you were away for work and-"

Her mother stopped her, grasping her daughter's hand into hers and sadly spoke, "I know you needed someone here."

"I...I..." She tried to form the words, but it grew harder as her breaths grew shallower. How could she say it? After all that happened? 

"I'm so sorry," Irene whispered to her. "I'm sorry I never knew."

Her mother should be disgusted by her. Ashamed that Leslie had found someone that was a lie all this time. Leslie's father had called her multiple times, telling her that he would try to support her cause through the American side. It was a way which her father tried to care for her at such a situation. But he didn't understand that right now: all his child needed was his comfort.

But having her mother stand here in front of her made the guilt seep through, flooding her insides that she could feel herself vomit them all out.

"Don't," Leslie spoke, gulping back before continuing. "It was me. I...I didn't know."

Widening her eyes, Irene got closer and placed her hands onto Leslie's shoulders. She said, "Don't be blaming yourself for this." 

"But-" Leslie hiccupped, careless of the tears still spilling down her cheeks. She wept, "This is. I should have told him. I should have known where he was!"

Irene Carter just gave her a sad smile, wiping her tears off her cheek before letting her step back and pass her a tissue. As she wiped her nose, Leslie glance forward to her and waited for her to respond, unsure what her mother would answer back.

An eccentric person to most, but to Leslie: she was the enigma that still kept in the bay in times like this. Her mother's work has always been quiet, never specified and certainly not spoken at the dinner table in evenings. She learnt to keep quiet about it, and often wondered if Irene Carter was some James Bond agent or was from the CIA.

But Leslie was taught to stay out things. To keep back and stay alert despite knowing to keep far from situations. Though how can she when all of this happened?

And from the glint of concern, Leslie could tell one thing. Irene Carter knew something.

"I wish you knew more. I wish...I wish I could tell you." Her mother told her quietly, every second looking at either corridor. "But this was a risk. Coming to you now."

Leslie's eyebrow's furrowed. She didn't understand what her mother meant, but with how hesitant she spoke she couldn't deny the guilt and the hidden meanings between the lines meant something even more.

"What? What do you mean?" She pried, looking to the same direction as her mother but found no one walking pass by. "Why? What's wrong? Mom?"

Irene stepped closer, eyes that begged for Leslie. She whispered, "I want you to follow Rowen, do you hear me?"

With her mind pausing, Leslie backtracked and gaped back. "What? Why?" A surge of anger, making her hiss in defiance. "Don't you have an idea what her friend did!? He...he shot-"

However, she couldn't finish the words as each syllable made her lose breath. This didn't make any sense at all. Why? Why would her mother tell her that? Even better yet: what did her mother and Rowen know and she didn't?

"No. He didn't kill him. Someone else did." Irene reasoned with her, though she could tell they both already knew of this. "The bullet, it wasn't the same gun that was in the scene wasn't it?"

"But I know that. Scotland Yard told me this." Leslie halted, and raised a brow. "Wait how do you know? Mom...what is it."

"...You're too young. You weren't supposed to know." She shook her head.

She asked back, "Know what? If this is about your work-"

"I'm sorry, darling. But I'm only here to see you for a short time." Irene shushed her, implying to quieten her tone. "I'm scared that I won't be able to see you again."

"What do you mean?" Leslie didn't hesitate, taking her mom's hand and speaking, "Mom, I'm coming home with you!"

But her mother shook her head, a pit falling into Leslie's stomach the moment she realised the temporary appearance of her mother.

"Trust her, Leslie." She stared right to me, almost pleading to her. Leslie didn't even notice until she felt two things slip into her hand.

Leslie glanced down to find two things. 

It was a dog tag on a silver chain, with a flower logo engraved on one side.

The other was the photo that had been in her house. The picture with the three historians.

Leslie was confused. Why did she hand her these things? Why would she need it?

And then she remembered what the number on the photo meant. "Why?" She questioned, beginning to worry every moment her mother got closer and lowered her voice.

She didn't understand the dog tag, but the number was vital since she could understand as a little girl. The number was for emergencies and could only be called once. If she needed this now, it meant something was terribly wrong.

"Please do it for me. I don't have much time." Her mom murmured to her, "I've got to go, my rose. My baby rose."

That nickname melted her heart, reminded by those previous times as she stood at the front door as her mother got into the car and waved back at her. How her dad would stand behind her, with those sad eyes despite the smile that rested on his lips. How the two clung to each other for another second before her mother had to leave.

It was the same thing happening again.

Leslie pleaded in a small voice. "Mom. Please don't go. Not now-"

Irene's voice echoed in her ear. "I will come back to you. I promise you."

She heard of these words many times and Leslie felt that there was some hint of insecurity by the tone of her voice. Her mother always said this whenever she left for work, but this time - it felt too genuine. That Irene Carter was promising herself.

Leslie wondered why her mother did this. To hide and to give her promises that have kept Leslie and her father in the dark all this time. They have been strong, and even more so for her mother. 

However: there would come a time that those promises would break.

She shook her head from those thoughts, wanting to forget and to remember to think of the brighter side. Her mother was strong and had always been there. She was going to see her mother again, and she would try her best to stay safe. For her and for her father.

"Please. Be safe." Leslie said quietly, trying to cling onto her as much as she could.

"I love you, my darling. Trust her." Those were her last words to her before giving her one last peck on her forehead and walking away out of the double doors. 

Leslie was left on her own, standing there with wide eyes - feeling like a child again and being left once more by the mother she still didn't seem to know more of after this.

• 𓎬 ☼ 𓋹⋅☾𓂀 ☽⋅𓋹 ☼ 𓎬 •

Only a couple of hours between her mother and visiting hours almost ending was when another visitor arrived at the morgue. Though, it was someone she least wanted to see after this time.

Rowen Bates stopped several feet away staring at her like she was cautious to approach some animal. She had that same look, the one which Irene Carter wore when she looked at her in sadness and sorrow. Though with her, it only made it worse. She didn't the pity and the sorry stares and definitely not from her.

"Leslie-"

She didn't even glance at her before she snapped back, "Fuck off. I don't want to talk to you." When she checked the time on her phone, Leslie took that moment to grab her bag and begin walking away from her.

As her heels clicked against the floor, she was about to pass the petite woman until a voice demanded her.

"Leslie Carter, stop," Rowen said with a tone which sent Leslie spinning around in fury.

She scowled back, hissing back. "You're not my mother, okay?"

The woman didn't snap almost, calmly inhaling back before answering: "I am not, but considering your mental state I'm having to substitute."

"Why? Why did he do it?"

"I don't know," Rowen answered, the tone seemed too genuine that she wasn't sure if it was true or not.

"This isn't right," Leslie said between her teeth, preventing another tear from leaping out. It took her a few breaths before questioning, "Why would he steal that thing? That block of golden trash-"

Rowen sighed, rubbing her head. "Look. There are things you do not understand-"

"Then tell me." She demanded.

"Not here. I...I only came here because I needed to talk to Rebecca." Rowen exhaled, flicking her eyes slightly down the hall before turning back to her. "But I considered going down to the morgue. Knowing how you'd be here."

"Yes. And now I'm going back to the hotel. So if you'll excuse me." She tried to step away but only was abrupted by Rowen falling into step with her as they sauntered down the hallway.

"I'll give you a lift."

"No."

As exasperated sigh left Rowen's lips as the two stopped. 

Leslie glared back, only to look away and fiddle with the chain and dog tag that was hidden under the collar of her shirt.

"This is for your safety, Leslie Carter. If someone else shot him, who knows who's after you?" She argued, ending with a thin-lipped Leslie as she pondered on the question.

In the end, Leslie accepted. She battled her heart and mind, trying to assess whether it was a good choice after all. But the same words kept repeating in her head from her mom. If her mother told her she had to trust her, why would Rowen not know of it?

She knew she should tell Rowen who she met before her today, and tell her why she was only coming with her reluctantly. Though no matter how Leslie couldn't form the right words. How could she explain the chain and the photograph hidden in her bag and around her neck when even she didn't know what they were. Why the photo of Emilia Darcy, Howard Carter and Robert Daley was vital.

Even if she did, Leslie knew what Rowen would think of her. Because she was the wife of the man that killed her friend - and if Rowen chose between her and Larry Daley: she would choose the nightguard.

They drove through London in silence, winding through the streets as Leslie idly sat back rigidly and still nerved by every glance Rowen took.

She shouldn't be this hostile, but she had too now. 

The car slowed down and the moment she glanced out of the window towards the unfamiliar street, Leslie's heart grew cold.

She spoke, "This isn't my hotel." Her head flashed over to the front seat, her fingers clenching onto the door handle.

Rowen eyed her, a blank look stretched over her though her eyes were swirling with conflict that Leslie felt judged to inspect. 

"No. This is my house. You're staying with me until something comes up." She explained.

Her anger returned, the realisation clicking into place. Why did she take her here?

"How could I trust you? Any of you?" Leslie challenged; her body rigid but inside shaking with fury and fear.

She looked across her shoulder and answered plainly. "You're still alive." Rowen Bates clicked open the car door and added. "That's the only thing I can support my account."

• 𓎬 ☼ 𓋹⋅☾𓂀 ☽⋅𓋹 ☼ 𓎬 •

Ahkmenrah XIX

2014 - London

Two days have passed since they arrived at the British Museum, and Ahkmenrah had not seen Rowen at all. 

In a way, he shouldn't worry too much considering what occurred when they first arrived here. His father had decided to plop a large brick of truths on their shoulders after thousands of years of secrecy and he still couldn't wrap his head around it all. 

He had brooded and sulked for the next couple of days, staying as far as possible from his parents and following Attila and Dexter like a ghost. He was supposed to act as their babysitter (a term Larry has constantly muttered under his breath whenever he was fed up of them all), though it seemed it was the other way around.

Ahkmenrah gravitated away from the new exhibits the first night Rowen, Larry, Nick and Rebecca didn't return. His parents wondered where the Guardian of Cambridge and Guardian of Brooklyn were and Ahkmenrah answered back with a shrug before seeking his friends. The whole night was wandering the British Museum.

He shouldn't comment on places, but Ahkmenrah wondered why Rowen stayed for this? Not that the British Museum was a squatter settlement in comparison to New York; it was the complete opposite. It was large, but it didn't seem to have the warmth and life New York had. It was cold and ordered, with no statues and glass cabinets that caged majority of the exhibits. They couldn't release them, not when there were nightguards stationed outside or somewhere within the place. 

He found the mummy section quickly, seeing new faces from his own country wake up in confusion. They were scared and dazed and he couldn't do anything. Ahkmenrah hated that he couldn't do something.

Like how he couldn't anything to save his family.

'You're the Guardian now,' His head told him. 'You're not just king anymore, you're Khonsu's chosen. The one that will protect the Tablet for all eternity...' He gulped the ball stuck down his throat and stared at himself at the large mirror in one of the halls.

He might wear these golden robes and a crown, but he was far from the king his brother was.

"I'm not a king," He said to himself. "I can never be who you were, brother. You're always going to be the one to rule. But...But I can't be the king and the guardian of the Tablet."

He inhaled slowly, forcing all his might to not tear up. But seeing his own eyes, golden-brown and dark under the dim lights. 

They used to be different colour many aeons ago. It once matched the colour of the Nile, light blue eyes that complimented the desert sands of the Sinai. Now they were just plain and dark, like little scarabs scuttling in the sand.

"What do you think about scarab beetles?" Osaze once asked him, Kahmunrah, Khafre and Djedefre. In the palm of his hand, he held a golden scarab figurine, with colourful wings and a large orange jewel at the top.

Khafre had commented in disgust, "Annoying little insects." 

"They're only annoying to you because you hate insects," Djedefre pointed out, earning a snort from Kahmunrah.

Kahmunrah commented back to Osaze question, "They're a symbol, aren't they?"

Their Mena neswt hummed to agree. "Yes. And what do they represent?"

"Protection?" Ahkmenrah piped, earning a roll of eyes from Khafre.

Osaze nodded, "Yes, and?"

"Uh...rebirth?" He continued, trying his best to remember what he read about the animal symbols the other night. "Oh! And immortality and resurrection."

"Correct," Their Mena neswt answered before putting down the scarab figurine. "The Scarab is a very important insect of our culture. The life of a scarab beetle revolves around the dung balls that the beetle consumes. How they laid their eggs in and fed their young. All represent a cycle of birth, death and rebirth. A new beginning."

Kahmunrah asked, "But why a scarab? There are so many other insects to choose from."

"No other insect carries a dung ball around their entire life," Osaze explained. "They carry it until their death and the birth of their young. Like how Ra rolls the sun around, bringing warmth and light on the world every day. How the sun rises and how the sun sets, it will bring another day. A cycle."

Djedefre questioned next, "But why make them so small? The gods could have made these creatures much larger."

"They're already large enough then it is!" Khafre shivered. "I don't want a huge scarab crawling in my bed!"

Kahmunrah smirked at Khafre whilst Ahkmenrah giggled, "Are you scared of bed bugs, Khafre?"

"No!" He squeaked, before folding his arms in a huff. "I...they're just puny and tiny. They're nothing. So why something so puny and tiny could be worth to be put in an amulet?"

Osaze asked them all, "Then ask yourself." He paused. "Why do we choose to symbolize something so small?"

None of the children spoke.

Until Ahkmenrah slowly spoke, "Protection."

All eyes went to him.

"You said a scarab carries this dung ball all of its life, like Ra and the Sun." He began. "That dung ball is the scarab's life source. It's its purpose; it's why it chooses to live and not to waste away and die."

The Mena neswt stared at him.

Ahkmenrah continued, "Like how Father is king. The kingdom is like a dung ball, and when he dies, Kahmun would be king and he'll be taking care of the dung ball, I guess."

"A good analogy," Osaze simply said, before blinking away and continuing. He could feel Khafre's eyes boring into his back after what he said, but he ignored it. "Even how small it is, or just being one, it will always have a big effect to which it protects. Like the King and Kemet."

Djedefre added, "Like the Guardians and the Artefacts."

"Exactly," Osaze confirmed.

Kahmunrah scoffed, "You actually believe in that?" He said, "It's just a story, a myth!"

"All stories can be derived from the truth, my prince." Their Mena neswt sternly put, silencing the others who whispered about. "A tale is twisted by time, changed by who the teller is and the listener."

"So why the scarab?" Khafre asked. "Why are you teaching us about insects?"

Osaze looked at the young boy and answered clearly. "Because plain and small and boring they are, each life in this world is worth more to the bigger things. As all four of you, you will all be important to Kemet someday. If it is tomorrow or ten years from now."

He tightened the grip of his clothes with his fist, refraining to punch the glass at himself.

Osaze was wrong. He may be important, but it didn't mean he could do a good job in carrying the job he was thrust into. Ahkmenrah wanted to scream again, to let his anger out once more but none left his body. He was tired. Tired of it all. Tired of being tossed about.

He left that exhibit with an image stuck in his head. An image of a man that was lost. A scarab who had two dung balls instead of one. One that was supposed to his - and the other for his brother.

When he woke up again in his sarcophagus, he went to check the (his) Tablet to find it still sitting on the wall before eager to find a small figure dressed in should be a skirt and heels. Or perhaps trousers and leather shoes. Even then, he knew she would be wearing a cardigan or a thick coat - a piece of clothing that reminded those who knew her that she was a woman out of time.

Instead, he found Sacagawea watching a group of acrobats in the main hall. She was sat on a bench, clapping after they've finished and disappeared to go and dance elsewhere. With the sound of his clothes ruffling, she spotted him and smiled kindly at him.

Ahkmenrah formed a practised smile back, greeting her a good evening. He then asked back, "Have you seen Rowen anywhere? Or Larry or Rebecca? Nicky?"

The Native American woman shook her head before she pondered aloud, "I saw someone else, but that was it."

"Oh." His hope slightly crumpled after hearing the outcome. Ahkmenrah then added, "Perhaps they had a long day? At least there aren't any pesky guards tonight."

They both shared a smirk, knowing how eventful it had been when they heard a shriek from one of the staff areas of the museum. They had assumed it was their friends, but it turned out to be Tilly - the young nightguard which Rowen introduced.

She had been both terrified and terrifying to the exhibits hadn't Sacagawea and Teddy sat her down (gave her a cup of tea as well) and explained it all about the (his) Tablet and its magic. Ahkmenrah didn't meet her in person, though once Rowen was back he would consider showing another mortal being the artefact.

If only they were here. It would have made Tilly's transition much easier. But here they were, unsure where the hell they were and if they were alright. Did something happen to them? Did Rowen's enemies found them?

Do they know the Tablet was here?

Luckily, Sacagawea noticed him falling deeper into his mind and place a hand over his arm. He looked up and saw her softened look. "Do not think too much of it, Ahk." She assured him. "Come on, let's go find the others." She reached out her hand and waited for him to take it.

Hesitating slightly, he finally took her hand carefully and she tugged him closer, linking their arms together as Sacagawea led them out of the main hall and down the large hallways. They passed some several marble statues walking about and the occasional chimaera. Ahkmenrah didn't know where they were going, only hoping it was somewhere that wasn't near his parents.

And speaking of them, she had cut the silence with the subject.

"So are you and your parents talking?" Sacagawea inquired.

Ahkmenrah sarcastically muttered back, "If you consider 'talking' as glaring at them in loathe - then yes."

Sacagawea had glanced to him, with a frown on her lips. It caused his chest to tighten, annoyance growing in him. He wasn't a child; he didn't need anyone to coddle him and tell him to go and apologise.

But perhaps he was making quick assumptions once he stared at her eyes. They were filled with worry and assurance - trying her best to understand him.

"...Ahk." Her eyes softened, a small smile forming on her face as she spoke. "Remember what we always said. We're here to talk to once you think it's the right time."

Ahkmenrah was a bit surprised and yet he shouldn't be. He knew what his friend was like, and one thing she was far from was judging those too quickly. Sacagawea knew too easily how he felt and tried to ease him.

Before the guilt could grow, he asked her back. "And when do you think it's the right time?"

Her hand patted his own, unwrapping her arm off his. "...We've got the lifetime to do it. So take your time." Sacagawea answered.

Ahkmenrah let out a sad smile, gazing down towards the floor to think. He forgot sometimes that they were just exhibits. They would continue to live on whilst the world moved on until they weren't important to the world to see. 

A lifetime with his friends. At least there was some light in these outcomes.

They continued forward, discovering themselves in a large chamber. With stone pillars and mosaic glass panes, it was entering a place close to the buildings of Cambridge. Only this time, there were weapons on the walls, glass cabinets of metal suits (armour he believed) and other trinkets.

Striding towards them was the president with another man walking beside him. He wore all metal, with a large sword sheathed on his belt. All silver and shining, he didn't even question how his shoes were all-metal as they made a racketing sound whilst he walked. His chin was up high, an air of arrogance and confidence as he whipped his blonde hair off his face and showed blue eyes looking at him.

The man was attractive at all accounts, though hardly didn't affect Ahkmenrah. He was a bit busy glancing away; he didn't want to interact with anyone new tonight. Not when he was now worried about Rowen and Larry.

"Teddy, who have you found?" Sacagawea asked after greeting her lover with a small peck on the cheek.

He introduced himself as a knight, like a soldier with a title from his understanding. He pressed a small kiss on Sacagawea's hand before speaking.

"My Lady, I am Sir Lancelot of Camelot." The blonde night greeted, before stepping away.

It was Ahkmenrah's turn to stare back at him with a blank look. Pretty was the term he should put as he bowed his head politely.

"You can call me Sacagawea." His friend spoke. But when she noticed he wouldn't speak, Sacagawea added: "And...this is Ahkmenrah."

Lancelot grinned. "A pleasure to make your acquaintances." He continued, "I have heard that we now dwell in these large halls. What you may call a museum?"

Ahkmenrah gave Sacagawea a quick glance and she slowly nodded back. He had forgotten what the new exhibits usually experience when they first wake up. Their first night tended to bring them to confusion and delusion, adjusting to their souls and their memories of the people which they once were before accepting what they were. He never got to partake in this, of course, but he once saw it when the new Greek and Mediterranean Exhibit came. The muses still believed they were in Greece thousands of years ago and took a while to accept their wax life.

So seeing how chipper and flamboyant Lancelot was, it was normal to watch the knight be himself and be wary of the surroundings.

"It is indeed." Teddy fell by Sacagawea's side, now linking arms with her. "Now, how about we go on a stroll to the other parts of the museum? We have not explored the entirety of the area and we're unsure how long we'll be here."

Ahkmenrah stood by, watching Lancelot ponder for a bit before humming in agreement. He then strutted to the door of the exhibition.

"I will guard you." Lancelot turned and faced them, lowering his voice. "You might never know. There could be foul creatures lingering around this place." And the knight marched ahead, unnoticed that the three looked at each other in amusement.

Sacagawea hid back a chuckle whilst Teddy grinned. Hiding his own smile by glancing down, he took a peek at his friends and couldn't help but show his own smirk. 

He quietly asked them, "So, who shall be the one to...how does Larry put it: 'break it to him'?" Ahkmenrah paused. "Definitely not me."

"We'll choose once he decides there aren't any foul creatures in the museum," Sacagawea replied earning a hidden snort from Ahkmenrah.

The president loudly whispered, "I think the only foul creatures here would be the terrible furniture.  There aren't any comfortable benches anywhere!"

• 𓎬 ☼ 𓋹⋅☾𓂀 ☽⋅𓋹 ☼ 𓎬 •

"Ahk. Teddy and I are heading back to the crate. Will you be alright up here?" Sacagawea asked him as they arrived back at their exhibit.

They had spent the whole night exploring once more with Lancelot joining their group. Attila was hesitant in seeing a new face whilst Dexter was much more eager to steal the shiny armour he wore. After they all met together, they discovered the hall of the Far East, which included Japanese, Korean and Chinese artefacts and rather (and he meant rather) large snake. Some interesting statues and painting which intrigued them all.

Ahkmenrah could only wish the other four were here with them. Rebecca and Rowen usually knew what was around them with the addition of Larry piping in sometimes. Nick loved making commentary of their nights.

Even thinking about them made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to go out there in the city and find them, to see if they were alright. But when he looked over at Teddy, he could tell that the president understood what he felt. What they all felt. They knew something was wrong, but they couldn't do anything without endangering the Tablet at an unknown place. Their priority was keeping his Tablet safe even if they had to wait.

"Yes. I'll be fine." He waved her off, before piping back with a question. "Do you know what happened to Larry and Rowena? They did say they'll return."

The two glanced at each other, both wearing blank looks before shaking their heads.

"I'm not sure," She sadly responded, deflating the mood. Sacagawea perked up and added, "But hopefully, they will be here this following evening."

He pursed his lips and spoke, "Perhaps I'm only being paranoid. I apologise, Sac and Teddy."

"Don't be sorry, my friend," Sacagawea answered and looked over to Teddy before going back to him.  "Well, at least there's some joy tonight. Meeting Lancelot was interesting."

"And a handful." Ahkmenrah rolled his eyes.

Teddy said with an amused expression. "Yes. A rather...colourful character. I did enjoy the tales of the Knights of the Round Table myself, perhaps Lancelot will tell us his tales."

"You should go." He told her and smiled softly, "I'll be fine, Sac. I'll see you later."

It took another few seconds before the Native American felt assured. "Alright." Sacagawea nodded and waved. "Well, stay safe. Good morning, Ahk."

Once the couple left, he slumped his shoulders and looked over to his sarcophagus. One thing he loathed was putting his wrappings back on by himself. Rowen helped him with this ordeal, being the only person he trusted of them all. When she wasn't in, it was Larry or Rebecca but sometimes he was left to do it. It was vital to put them on, as it kept his body intact during the day when he was...dead. One time he took too long wrapping his bandages and didn't have time to wrap his hand properly. 

When he woke up, let's just say he might as well chop his hand off the whole because it was so painful and disfigured that he couldn't even move it. Rowen had scolded him for it for about a week and made him wrap himself up for another week until he got faster.

Hence why he wasn't worriedly hurrying, tying the last bandage in his right hand before staring down at his bed. Another day which he could only Rowen would come back and take him and his friends out of here. Ahkmenrah slipped inside and push the lid before closing it shut fully.

Ahkmenrah tried to sleep by closing his eyes and counting to ten in various languages. Once he felt tiredness overcome, he let the last breath out and let sleep consume him.

Though, no matter how he tried to drift off - he felt himself twitch his nose.

'Well...that was a quick sleep,' Ahkmenrah thought. 'Must have slept quite deeply. And no dreams too.' He tried to assure his mind this, but a larger part didn't seem convinced.

"Um...He-" He called out, unsure if anyone was outside. "Hello? Rowen? Larry? Are you there?" 

After several taps on his lid, no one responded.

'Honestly,' Ahkmenrah rolled his eyes. 'Where are they? Three nights in a row, surely there's something wrong...' He then trailed off and heard the click of shoes and the muttering of a voice.

A new voice.

He narrowed his eyes and glared up to the lid. And with his strength, he slipped his fingers through the crack in the lid and slowly slid the lid of his sarcophagus out of the way. He had not done this at all for years, always having the lid partially open when evening came. Or perhaps he was used to the privilege for so long that he wasn't used to having to open it on his own.

Either way, anyone awake before him would open it. Usually, Teddy or Tilly (who still kept away from him since day one and he couldn't blame her, Ahkmenrah had come off rather harsh on the young woman and frightened her with his questions about Rowen's whereabouts).

He gritted his teeth, and eventually let out a sigh as he sat up and began unwrapping his bandages. Though when he then turned to his side, he was not expecting someone to be staring at him with jaw let loose.

Standing in the British Museum uniform was a nightguard.

An unfamiliar nightguard.

Ahkmenrah's eyes widened.

A small screeched left the man's mouth before he slapped his mouth shut. The nightguard's body was shaking like he was seeing a ghost-

'You're the ghost, you idiot!' Ahkmenrah screamed to himself.

The man had gone paler the longer they stared each other before the man yelped as Ahkmenrah moved back a step.

"No, wait!" He said frantically,  "Please! Please I need-"

The nightguard stuttered, stumbling backwards. "The..."

Ahkmenrah gestured his hands, but that immediately made the man jump. He pleaded, "No, I must-" 

"THE MUMMY'S ALIVE!" 

"Wait!"

The nightguard screamed, "THE MUMMY'S ALIVE!"

The nightguard wailed his arms about as he ran, straight out of the hall and further into the museum to a direction Ahkmenrah didn't know. As the scream diminished, he coughed slightly, brushing the dust that fell from the lid and began unravelling the bandages. Hurrying to unwrap, he left his crown and swung his legs out of the coffin - adjusting his skirt before he looked about.

Shining down the window was something blinding. Perhaps it was a spotlight or an incredibly bright lamp up in the ceiling. But then again: why have the lights up during the day-

His mind backtracked.

It wasn't artificial light at all. It was light from the sun. Sunlight. The warm orange tint, refracting into a ray of colours as it hit the glass. And a ray shot through into the room in front of him.

Ahkmenrah approached it cautiously.

He reached his hand out towards the window, shaking with what was a mix of emotions. 

Slowly his hand was bathed in light. But nothing happened but a warmth tingling feeling. No dust of a sort.

That was when his heart stopped.

"What? That's not possible..." He breathed, his eyes never leaving his hand. The same hand that was in the sunlight.

It was morning. And he was awake.

Ahkmenrah was awake.

With deep heavy breaths, he stepped into the ray of light and shut his eyes. In over four thousand years and not a second to lose: it was the very first time he had seen sunlight. He had seen it in movies.

This. This was different.

And then the gut feeling rose up to his throat and stopped the moment of happiness and relief.

This was all wrong.

He blinked away the tears, rubbing his face to wake himself up before rushing to adjust his clothes and crown and rushed towards his parents' chamber. He hoped that they would be awake just like him, running pass some mummies beginning to unravel their own bandages in confusion.

Once he arrived back to the exhibit, he found them standing in front of the wall. 

Ahkmenrah shouted, "Mother! Father!"

Both their head turned and quickly, Shepseheret rushed to him and placed her hands over his cheeks with the widest eyes - searching for any damage on him.

"Ahkmen! Are you alright?" She asked him, and he carefully pried her hands away before gulping a portion of air into his lungs.

He spoke to them, "Something's gone wrong. And I mean...terribly wrong."

Shepseheret furrowed her eyebrows and answered, "What?"

He stared at her in confusion. Did she believe it was still evening? 

However, when he glanced up to Merenkahre, he already knew from the fear on his father's face that he knew. They both knew it. 

His eyes went over to the Tablet and found it still glowing. No corrosion or unwanted feeling expelling from the artefact. Perfectly normal. But all of this was far from it.

Ahkmenrah finally spoke those words he had not said in a very long time. 

"It's daytime." 

____

A/N: And so it all begins...

The museum comes to life during the day was something I have been looking so forward to. The chaos would bring and will be shown in the next chapter. AAAA! And finally seeing Sir Lancelot in the story is going to make this ten times better. 

Okay, there are too many things going on here. We got a new PoV: our lovely historian Rebecca who is going to be important further in the story. We've seen her be badass and a genuine supportive friend to our characters, but I finally showed her own side of the story. Especially with the relationship with Nick, Larry and Rowen - I'm going to be focusing on her relationship with Nick this time which is going to be the typical awkward Daley and women vibe.

As for Leslie, we give kudos for this woman for still staying strong. Yes, she loved Garret: but her morality seems more important than Garret's tragic end. Especially with her mother being very suspicious. If this is all too much and confusing, don't worry. Irene Carter will be returning briefly in the future to explain things.

____

Written: 25/12/2020

Edited: 25/12/2020