To Love and Blood

Hopping off the bike, Kat ducks her head as she tries to tame her hair, it had become messy and disheveled from the ride with her curls falling every which way. Running her hands through her uncooperative hair a few times, Kat takes a steadying breath before following Steven and Layla into the building.

Walking through the halls to Stevens flat, Kat wears a bemused smile as she takes in the building. It’s as old and damaged as her own. Water stains run down the green walls in dark trickles that collect along the floorboards and the poorly kept flooring is scratched and chipped away until almost all the varnish of the wood is gone and only the bare splintered flooring remains. The creaks that come from the ceiling with each movement of the other occupants and the way the floorboards groan under their feet as they walk, reminds Kat of all the places she's stayed in for past jobs.

A reminder of the whole reason she’s here. A reminder of the risk she’s taking by giving up the job. A reminder of the haunting texts she has been receiving that demand she complete the job soon or face the consequences. Each sound of the apartment settling around them reminds Kat of all these things and makes the cool dampness feel all that more icy.

It is hard for someone to blackmail Kat, she has no one to be held against her, no dark past worse than being an assassin, no people who rely on her. Her whole life was carefully crafted to be a blank slate, nothing for anyone to ever hold over her. She had learned her lesson, and made sure it can't be repeated. Those texts though, they unnerve her. Their ambiguous, mysterious, something about them nagging at her and demanding her attention.

Though she has cleared all traces of her life, her mind can't help but remember her sister. There’s no way whoever is behind the threats can possibly know about her only remaining family, her estranged and absent family but family nonetheless.

An echo repeats in her skull, unyielding in its conviction.

‘Monster. Monster. Monster.’

The creak of the apartment door opening brings Kat out of her worries. Steven slowly opens the door and watches with shifting feet and nervous hands as Layla and Kat walk in and observe the room.

It’s nice. A kitchen to the side and a large living area with a desk, a TV balancing precariously on a stack of thick books. A plush green chair sits across from it and a brown leather couch next to the chair. Bookshelves overflowing with different brittle pages, manuscripts and textbooks, old and yellow with age, separate the living room from the bedroom. A large fish tank lit with a soft blue light is settled on a counter that separates the kitchen, in the tank is a small goldfish with two fins. Kat waves to Gus and says a quiet ‘Hello’ to the fish she has heard so much about.

While Steven seems to be listening to something Marc is saying, Kat wanders around the space. Her fingers trail delicately over the spines of the books, noting with interest that they all seem to be related to egyptology. Her curiosity brings her further into the bedroom and she raises her brow at the ankle cuff attached to the bed and the layers of sand surrounding the bed on all sides. The bed itself is rumpled and unkempt in a distinctly ‘Steven’ manner.

Everything about the apartment screams ‘Steven’, it makes Kat smile goofily as she turns slowly to take it all in.

“Are you okay?” Stevens' voice quietly asks, suddenly close to her, “Earlier in the hall, you seemed worried. Are you alright?”

Apparently her fears hadn’t been as subtle as she had hoped. Turning, Kat sees Steven's worried brows and desperately wants to smooth those lines.

Instead, Kat offers Steven a shrug, and brushes it off, “It was nothing, just thinking about some things.”

Steven frowns, clearly not believing Kat, but doesn’t push it, simply saying, “alright, but if something is bothering you, well, you can talk to me.”

Kat nods, trying to swallow the lump forming in her throat. God she is pathetic, getting emotional over such a simple sentence. And Steven is standing there, so close to her, with such a sweet expression of care. He genuinely wants to help, and that's what makes it so painful to push him away when all Kat wants is to let him in. But if she does, Kat knows she is done for. No one sticks around for the monster in the fairytales.

‘I like being alone, being alone is safe. I don't need to talk to anyone.’ Kat reminds herself, fighting the part that wants to just tell Steven everything back with a broom, ‘Don't do anything stupid, Katalya.’

“Uh this is your flat Marc?” Layla asks, running a finger through the dust collecting atop the TV set and eyeing it warily as it begins rocking unsteadily.

Stevens' eyes break away from Kats, and she mourns the loss of those big brown irises as he turns to Layla.

“I’m Steven.” He corrects with an apologetic grimace, shifting on his weight and suddenly feeling out of place in his own flat.

“Are you living here with someone else?” Layla asks slowly, looking at the couch and the arm chair susposiously.

“No.” Kat and Steven answer at the same time.

“I um, I assume.” Kat corrects herself with an easy bashful smile as Steven looks at her in surprise.

“This is my mum's flat.” Steven says, accepting Kats excuse easily and moving on.

Layla's eyes widen and she takes a large step towards Steven, “You guys are talking again?”

Steven hums his agreement and, like a moth drawn to a brilliant sun, looks back to where Kat is running her hand over the spines of the books laying across his desk. Her eyes darting as she absorbs each title, snagging on one in particular and holding it up for Steven to see, an appreciative smirk on her face.

“Marceline Desbordes Valmore?” Kat asks, her voice accented and lilting as she pronounces the french name fluidly, they syllables rolling off her tongue naturally.

“Yep.” Steven rubs the back of his neck self consciously as he begins to recite a poem from the book, “N’écris pas. Je te crains; j’ai peur de ma mémoire,”

“Elle a gardé ta voix qui m’appelle souvent.” Kat continues, stepping closer to Steven as a grin spreads across her face and a sense of home wraps itself around her, heart beating as she listens to Steven speak her home language.

“Ne montre pas l’eau vive à qui ne peut la boire.” Layla adds.

“Une chère écriture est un portrait vivant.”

“N’eris pas.” Kat finishes softly, gently laying the book back down but never breaking eye contact with Steven as a soft, secretive smile slowly spreads across her lips. A language between just them unfolding in their gaze and singing its words in their ears.

“She's my favorite poet.” Layla says, confusion written on her face as she looks from the book to Steven, and then from Steven to Kat.

“Um no, she's my favorite.” Steven argues.

“Technically my favorite poet is Edgar Allan Poe.” Kat remarks, feeling like she should add something to the conversation.

Layla laughs as Steven nods his head appreciatively at her choice.

Suddenly a question comes to Kats mind, turning to Steven she asks, “Tu parle francais?”

Stevens brows scrunch in confusion before clearing and slowly stuttering out, “Uh, J’etude le français.”

He speaks slowly, sounding out each word and stumbling over them. Nervous under Kats appreciative gaze and feeling his cheeks grow hot.

“Tres bien.” Kat approves with an encouraging smile, “But you might want to use ‘J’apprends’ if you are saying you're learning it.”

“Right.” Steven nods, serious and obviously making a note to remember that.

There's a lull as no one knows quite what to say. Kat has sympathy for Layla, Layla has sympathy for Kat because clearly Marc has pulled her into this, and Steven is just confused overall on what the bloody hell is going on.

Layla turns back to Steven, gesturing to the books on hieroglyphs and asking dubiously, “So you're learning French and hieroglyphs?”

Steven glances at Layla, busying himself by fiddling with the pages of a nearby notebook, “It's not that impressive, it's not like hieroglyphs are a whole language.”

“More like an alphabet.” Kat adds helpfully, seeing Layla's confused look.

“Yeah,” Steven nods, “And well, you’ve still got to know ancient Egyptian to read it.”

Layla thinks on that before she asks curiously, turning to Kat, “Can you read it?”

Kat shugs, “A bit? Not nearly as well as Steven.”

Steven blushes at the complement, hiding his smile as he ducks his head. He moves and grabs a scroll, showing it to Kat and Layla as they gather around him at the desk where he rolls the scroll out and flicks on the pale yellow lamp.

“For example, this one here, yeah?” Steven taps the descending hieroglyphs scrawled on the page.

“Funeral rites.” Kat recognizes with glee, leaning closer to get a better look, her shoulder brushing Stevens as she looks at the symbols with rapt attention.

Steven pulls back, an excited grin breaking over his face, “Well somebody knows their unilaterals, you.”

Kat blushes and shakes her head, knocking his shoulder fondly, “You're such a dork.”

“Says the one who recognizes funeral rite hieroglyphs.” Steven shoots back with an easy grin.

Kat and Steven are distracted by each other and barely notice the sour frown appearing on Layla's face as she watches their interaction. A thick vine of hurt and pain wraps around her heart as she watches her ex husband blatantly flirt with this woman she doesn't even know!

“No, I’m sorry, I'm not buying this Marc.” Layla cuts in, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at Steven, who for his part, looks like a kicked puppy, “Use whatever accent you like, yeah? But let's just get this over with.”

Layla pulls a thick envelope from her bag and tosses it down on the table beside her. It thunks on the table like a death sentence, dark and impending, sitting there in its pure white envelope that waits to be opened.

“You sent these papers, but you never signed them.” Layla crosses her arms and stares Steven down.

“Did I?” Steven fumbles, confused and concerned, only making Layla more upset.

“This is what you wanted.” Layla reminds him, trying to stay tough and not let her emotions show, she just needs to get this done so she can fully move on.

Kat decidedly steps between them, reminding Layla with a caring tone, “That may be what Marc wanted, but this is Steven.”

“And you tricked her too!” Layla exclaims, pointing at Kat who stares back in confusion, “You tricked her into this stupid ‘Steven’ persona Marc, how messed up is that!”

“Okay look,” Kats voice is firm as she steps forward, unwavering, defensiveness of Steven rising, “No one ‘tricked me’. This is Steven Grant, if you disagree then you can leave.”

Layla looks at Kat with sympathy, not believing her for a second and instead thinking she's this poor girl who can't see the truth.

Layla speaks back to Steven, reminding him, “After everything, you told me that we needed to move on.”

Slowly Steven opens the envelope and pulls out the thick stack of papers, putting on reading glasses that rest on the bridge of his slightly crooked nose and reading the first line before staring at Layla from over the pages, “A div- a divorce?”

“Yeah. We doing this or not?” Layla huffs, now openly glaring at Steven as she swallows the tears back down.

“Who the hell would divorce you?” Kat blurts, staring at Layla, “You're so cool.”

Sometimes Kat wishes she is one of those super geniuses you see in movies so she can build a time machine and drop her baby self from a wall. This is definitely one of those times. She really wishes she had kept that thought inside her head, but her stupid mouth had decided to betray her and blurt the embarrassing sentence out.

“Ask him.” Layla says bitterly, pointing her chin to Steven.

“I would never divorce you.” Steven disagrees, glaring at the papers as if they offended him. Or rather, as if they were Marc himself.

Layla looks close to tears as she sadly asks, “What are you doing?”

Oh god Kats heart is gonna break for this woman.

“Look you seem absolutely lovely,” Steven begins, tossing the papers aside, “This Marc on the other hand, is a right twat yeah?”

Kat nods in agreement, adding supportively, “I haven't even met him and he sounds idiotic.”

Layla gives a watery chuckle as Steven continues earnestly, “Look, I don’t even know how to explain what's been happening, I don't expect you to believe me..”

Steven moves to the abandoned black duffle near the door and begins shuffling around in it, searching, as he speaks, “I honestly don't really believe myself, all I can do is try to show you what I've found.”

“Steven…” Kat cautions, giving him a wary look.

Whatever is hidden in there will ultimately pull Layla into this. Even just being near Steven seems to have put Harrow's eyes on Kat, his creepy rat-like eyes that she just wants to gauge out.

Steven glances at Kat but ignores her and continues, “We found this bag in the storage locker,” He tells Layla, gesturing at himself and Kat, “Inside of it is all sorts of…things.”

Something is pulling part of Stevens' attention as he speaks, if Kat has to guess it's probably Marc. Layla is now staring at the bag with renewed interest, at Steven himself with new interest. Kat ignores it, ignores the way her stomach curdles and her lips beg to frown.

“Most interestingly..” Steven abruptly stops what hes doing, cutting himself off as his attention snaps to the reflection in the shiny reflective paperweight on the table in front of him.

“Most interesting is ...what?” Layla prompts, gesturing for Steven to continue before looking to Kat for answers when Stevens attention remains on his reflection.

“Nothing.” Kat shrugs, the lie rolling from her tongue unabbidden. It's natural, the most natural thing she has done since meeting Steven. To her, a lie is as simple and easy as drinking water or breathing air, it's something needed for survival. “We found nothing important.”

Behind her, Steven nods and echoes the sentiment, “Nothing, nevermind.”

Steven is stuffing things back in the bag and fruitlessly trying to zip it back up while Layla narrows her eyes suspiciously and slowly asks, “What's in there?”

“Just papers.” Kat says smoothly, as Steven, hopelessly bad at anything dishonest, just gapes and fumbles with the bag.

In one quick stride, Layla has crossed the room and grabbed the bag from Steven's hands and opens it as Steven weakly protests. Layla tips the bag onto the table and the passports and cash flows out, a glinting golden beetle resting perfectly on top.

“Papers?” Layla cocks a brow, rounding on Kat with an accusing glare.

“Passports and cash are made of paper.” Kat answers innocently, face falling easily into a mask of pure innocence.

Layla gives a derisive snort and shakes her head, turning to Steven and pinning him with a somehow even more scolding glare, “The scarab pointing to Ammits ushabti?” She points at the golden beetle, “What we fought side by side for?”

“Hold on..” Kat tries to placate but Layla keeps stalking closer to Steven as her voice raises.

“This whole one man show is just, what? So you can keep it to yourself?”

“No! I swear,” Steven shakes his head roughly, eyes wide, “After all we've been..

Layla interrupts him, “Just stop! I'm supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in a gym bag?”

“Take it.” Steven pleads, stepping back as Layla gets closer, “Take it, you can have it, I don't want it. I swear, have it!”

Layla opens her mouth to continue her tirade before a clear, firm, voice cuts through the apartment.

“Enough!”

Kat cuts between the two, leveling Layla with a sympathetic stare and softening her voice, “That's enough.”

All of Layla's anger seems to deflate out of her as she closes her eyes against the tears burning there. Her whole body seems to let go of the bitterness she has held so long and she is left with just a deep soul crushing tiredness.

“What is going on? Please, the truth?” Layla asks Kat, her eyes flitting to Steven over Kats shoulder, voice broken and pleading.

Kat is about to come up with another lie before a voice speaks up from behind her.

“I am not Marc spector.”

Kat turns to Steven as he continues speaking to Layla, “I’m Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop,” Kat raises a brow at him, "I used to work in a gift shop.” Steven corrects himself.

“We’re in a bit of trouble.” Kat explains to Layla, unsure of whether to reach out to the woman or let her be.

“I think we're in real danger and I think you might be the only person who can help us.” Steven continues Kats words, their thoughts melded as one plea for help in a situation neither understands.

Layla worries her lip between her teeth as she asks, despite knowing the answer already, “You really don't remember why we've been looking for this?” She holds up the golden scarab, her eyes sad with a glimmer of loss, “Our adventures? Our life together?”

Steven sadly shakes his head, his face brimming with sympathy, “I wish I could.”

“I'm sorry,” Kat tells Layla, voice soft and gentle as she rests a hand on Layla's shoulder, “I know how difficult this must be.”

“No.” Layla shakes her head and brushes Kats hand off, swallowing back tears, “You don't know.”

Kats heart gives a pang. She knows all too well the pain of losing someone who's still alive, of wishing, hoping they'll come back to you while knowing they won't.

Kat gives her a sad smile, deciding that it's okay to bare the tiniest glimpse of her soul if it means helping Layla, “I do. I promise you, I know this pain.”

Layla looks at Kat for a moment before nodding and pressing her lips together. A truce between them as they connect in their grief, separate but similar.

Before either can say anything more, a knock at the door sounds, sharp and rapping. Beside Kat, Steven jumps and turns to the door with fearful eyes.

“Steven Grant?” A woman's muffled voice calls from behind the door, “Can we have a word?”

“Oh god, they've come for me.” Steven panics, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket and hurriedly shoving the cash and passports back in the bag as if that will make everything better and less suspicious.

Having no better ideas yet, Kat helps him.

“Why?” Layla glances Steven up and down, clearly agreeing with Kats assessment of Stevens' harmlessness.

“He vandalized the loos.” Kat grins impishly, nudging Steven with her elbow.

“You what!?” Layla's eyes are comically wide as she looks between the two like they're both bonkers mad.

“Kat punched a coworker!” Steven says, pointing to Kat accusitorally as if that makes his mistake all better.

Kat shrugs, not bothering to defend her choice as Layla looks to her for an explanation.

“Steven Grant?” The muffled voice calls again as the knocking grows louder and more insistent.

Kat grabs the golden scarab and presses it into Layla's hands, folding her own hands over the womans and silently asking her to keep it safe.

“Who is it?” Kat asks, pressing an eye to the peephole.

Behind the door stands a beautiful woman with smooth dark chocolate skin and buzzed black hair with a tall burly white man, a beard framing the intimidating scowl on his face. They both look intimidating and not at all friendly.

“DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy.” The woman responds, holding a badge up to the peephole.

Steven turns to Kat, wondering what to do. Closing her eyes, Kat allows herself a moment of panic before forcefully shoving it down and letting a cool calmness overtake her. Opening her eyes, Kat sees a number of different scenarios play out before her in a flash, all bad, all ending with Steven in danger.

“Okay.” Kat decides, nodding to herself as she comes up with a half baked plan.

She walks to Layla and points to the window that leads out onto the roof, silently instructing her to hide there. Then, she grabs Stevens hand and gives it a squeeze, nodding towards the door. Her heart hammers in her throat as she watches Steven walk on unsteady legs to the door. This will either go over surprisingly well, or not at all well and end with her and Steven dead. Yay, what great choices.

With shaking hands, Steven undoes the door's bolt and peeks out into the hall, giving a meek, “Hello officers.”

“Steven Grant?” The deep voice of the burly man rumbles, suspicion laced in his eyes.

“I think so, I mean, yeah yep that's me.” Steven fumbles over his words, “That’s me, 100%, Steven Grant.”

Hidden behind the door and out of the officer's sight, Kat rolls her eyes and lets her head drop back as she prays for patience.

“Sorry, just having a bit of a day.” Steven says lamely, with a weak, not at all convincing smile.

Kat can see the woman nod slowly, asking, “Mind if we come in mister Grant?”

“Um actually, now's not-” Steven begins to say when the door is shoved further open and the woman walks past him, giving the apartment a cursory judgemental glance.

“Appreciate it.” DC Kennedy, smirks as she walks through the apartment like she owns it.

Kats eyes narrow on the woman, suspiciousness lingering around the two officers like a dense fog. She tries to find something wrong with them, to scan every movement the officers make and find a reason to suspect them, but to Kat's best knowledge, these two are genuine officers. She cannot find a single thing to indicate otherwise, which makes it all the more concerning.

“That's illegal entry into a private residence.” Kat points out, as DC Kennedy looks at her like she just realized Kat is there.

“Remind me again,” The burly man, DC Fitzgerald, begins with a lecheras grin, “Which one of us are the officers here?”

“Don't need to be a policeman to know the law.” Kat retorts, fighting to not shrink under the dismissive gaze of DC Fitzgerald and to stand tall as everything screams at her to protect Steven and Layla.

DC Fitzgerald barks a laugh. It crawls under Kat's skin and frustrates her to no end as he laughs at her, mocking and mean. Steven frowns at the DCs rude behavior, wanting to step in front of Kat and defend her but not wanting to give the officers any more reason to drag him away in cuffs.

“Anyone else here with you two?” DC Kennedy asks, surveying the open window where Kat knows Layla is hiding.

“Nope. no, just me, Kat, and my fish.”

Kat is so glad that Steven is able to give a solid fib for once, she could kiss him right now.

“So, is this about the loos?” Kat asks, eager to redirect the DCs attention and bring her back into the living room area and away from the window.

“It's been dealt with, I've been sacked.” Steven hurriedly adds, glancing between the two officers.

DC Kennedy walks over to the bed and looks pointedly at the ankle cuff resting there and turning to Steven.

“That's uh… I have a sleeping disorder.” Steven says with an embarrassed blush, quickly moving back to the subject at hand, “The museum said they wouldn't press charges as long as I do installments…they said that I could.”

Kat grabs Stevens arm and he stops stuttering his words and quiets down, just watching the officers nervously as they investigate his stuff. His skin crawls as they touch his things and invades his space, not even bothering to put stuff back where it was. His pulse is a jackhammer in his ears and yet somehow, Kat is calm beside him through all of this.

DC Kennedy picks up a glass paperweight, turning it over in her hands as she inspects it, “What's this?”

“It's a paperweight.” Steven answers slowly, unsure of if that was an actual question or not.

Kat crosses her arms and tracks the officers movements as she tells them, “Look. The museum said they wouldn't press charges, there's no lawful reason for either of you to be here. Get out.”

Stevens' head whips to stare at Kat, something akin to admiration shining under his fear as he watches her stare down to two officers who can definitely drag them to jail, “Kat…”

“Katalya, is it?” DC Kennedy asks, a false smile on her face as she rounds on Kat with faux sweetness.

Kats eyes narrow suspsiously, her mouth twitching into a frown as she growls, “I never told you my name.”

“We looked up your file.” DC Kennedy shrugs dismissively.

Kat rolls her eyes, the officer’s lying. Her file doesn’t exist. But there are now two people, who she suspects aren't actually officers on official business, in Stevens apartment with guns and tasers. It would be two against one and if these faux officers wanted to hurt Steven they would have already.

“Right, my file.” Kat repeats, not challenging the officer and instead choosing to let it drop as she focuses now on just getting herself, Steven, and Layla all out alive.

DC Fitzgerald turns to Steven, a smugness in his voice as he announces, “You're in possession of a stolen item.”

“Oh, yeah I-” Steven cuts off as he processes what Fitzgerald said and Kat pinches his arm, quickly correcting himself, “No, I don't have it. No, it's not here.”

DC Kennedy picks through the mess on the table, pulling out a passport that Kat had missed and flipping it open with interest.

“‘Marc Spector’?” DC Kennedy questions, turning the passport around to show the picture of a man similar in looks to Steven but so different in the eyes staring from the picture.

“That's not mine.” Steven answers automatically, cringing as DC Kennedy raises an unbelieving brow.

“Funny that, fella looks just like you.” The woman smiles sharply, “Fake passport and a thief.”

In her focus on DC Kenedy, Kat had not seen DC Fitzgerald sneaking closer to her. Kat jumps as DC Fitzgerald grabs her arm, tsking with disapproval and Kat turns to hit him on instinct and stops herself moments before the strike. Her fist inches from connecting with the officer's jaw when she quickly drops it.

“I think you best come with us son.” DC Fitzgerald tells Steven, his hold on Kat's arm tightening as Stevens eyes focus on the officer's hand.

Kat doesn't move as she tries to decide between just going with them or fighting back, neither option looks particularly good. Deflection it is!

“What grounds do you have to arrest us?” Kat challenges, barely holding back a hiss and wince as the grip on her bicep becomes painful, Fitzgerlads thick meaty fingers pressing into her arm harshly in warning.

DC Kennedy laughs mockingly, “Didn't you hear me? Theft and a fake passport.”

“There's no evidence of-” Kat breaks off in a grunt as Fitzgerald pulls her roughly towards the door.

“Hey wait!” Steven calls after them, “I'm the one you want, let her go. Kat did nothing!”

“Aiding and abetting a criminal.” DC Fitzgerald says in explanation of Kats supposed crimes. DC Kennedy leads Steven out of the apartment with them, locking cuffs around his wrists as Fitzgerald does the same to Kat, closing them too tightly to be comfortable.

Kat is shoved into the car's back seat, glaring at the officers and barely withholding the barrage of insults teeming at her lips. Steven is pushed in beside her and immediately turns to Kat, streams of apologies flowing from his mouth before the door even shuts fully.

“I am so sorry Kat, I had no idea this would happen.” Steven begins to ramble, large pleading eyes searching hers, “I thought there would be no charges, the museum said they wouldn't press charges.”

“Hey, breath.” Kat instructs, squeezing Stevens hand, though it's a bit awkward with the cuffs, “It's okay, we’ll figure something out.”

Steven relaxes a bit, still tense as hell but less doomsday like. The ride is quiet, the officers talk to each other but they ignore Steven and Kat in the back. Kat watches with growing apprehension each building they pass that takes them further and further from the police department. It’s stupid, but Kat had hoped she had been wrong and these two really were just really bad at being lawful cops. This day has been just one surprise after the other and Kat can feel herself growing tired, her body slumping as her energy leaves her rapidly. Seeing Kat grow tired, Steven shifts his way over until he is sitting next to her and Kat is leaning against him.

“Well looky looky,” DC Kennedy says in a singsong voice up front, tapping away at the brightly lit computer in her lap, scrolling through a database of some kind, “Guess what we've got here, Billy?”

“Go on, tell me.” DC Fitzgerald goads, playing along.

“We've only got ourselves a full blown, international fugitive.” DC Kennedy reveals, her smile is venomous and not at all friendly as she looks back at Steven.

“That's not-” Steven stumbles over his words, trying to explain, “It's a mistake, it's not me.”

DC Kennedy ignores Steven and continues to read from the file, “Marc Spector was part of a team of mercenaries that hit a dig site in Egypt.”

Beside Kat, Steven blanches, his face draining of color as a new wave of fear washes through him. Kat merely sadly shakes her head, she had known that Marc’s exactly a girl scout but it is worse to hear it confirmed.

“Here's what they did to the archaeologist,” DC Kennedy says, showing Fitzgerald pictures that, even from the back, Kat can see are filled with the maroon of blood, “Zip tied and shot in the back of the head, execution style.”

Fitzgerald looks at Steven through the rearview mirror, “That's dark, man.”

“No no no,” Steven shakes his head, “I didn't do that, that's not me.”

Kennedy laughs cruelly as the car stops in a dark area of the city, far from the lights and people Kat is accustomed to. An abandoned tall brick building is to the left of the car and there is no one in sight, no one to help.

“Steven,” Kat whispers, grabbing Stevens hand and squeezing it until he looks at her, “Whatever happens here, I need you to trust me.”

“What? Yeah of course I trust you.” Steven answers with confusion, looking back out the window and turning to the officers, “I thought we were going to the police station?”

Fitzgerald gives them a wide grin that shows the yellow edges of his teeth as he turns to look at the two in the back, “Now why would you think that?”

DC Kennedy tells them to sit tight and without another word, the two officers exit the car, leaving Steven and Kat alone, trapped in the car and with no one around.

With the DCs gone, Kat digs into her pocket and retrieves the two twisted bobby pins she always keeps hidden on her, making quick work of unlocking her own cuffs and instructing Steven to give her his wrists so she can undo his. With his hands free, Steven rubs his red raw wrists, wincing at the contact.

Stevens' breath becomes quicker and more rushed, thinner as his eyes dart around and his fingers tap wildly against his leg. A watery chuckle escapes his lips as Kat bumps his shoulder and demonstrates taking deep breaths.

“So… Marcs a mercenary.” Kat begins, unsure of how much to say, what will help and what will cause Steven more panic, deciding to shrug and crack a joke, “It could be worse.”

“Really?” Steven laughs, it's strained and more rueful than anything, “How could it possibly be worse?”

Kat turns her head to stare out the window as she answers, truth ringing through her words, “Could have been an assassin.”

“Oh god, I think I would just about die if the American man in my head was a bloody assassin.”

Kat catches the frown before it can appear on her face, her stomach sinking to her feet like lead in an ocean. Her heart feels bruised and battered, his words pressing on old unhealed wounds.

“Yeah, that would be pretty bad.” Kat agrees softly, swallowing back the lump in her throat.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ Kat chastises herself, ‘You're a killer, monster, harden your heart and feel nothing.’

Her nails dig into her palms as Kat feels the shutters descend over her emotions, locking them tightly away, deep within her chest. She can feel Stevens wondering gaze on her but ignores it and closes her eyes against the world that suddenly seems too harsh.

A thwack jolts Kat from her thoughts as a soccer ball hits the window next to Steven, a young teenage girl chasing after it and juggling the ball with her feet.

“Hello!” Steven yells, pressing against the window to get the girls attention, “Excuse me, could you help us? Please, we've been kidnapped!”

The girl stares at him with an uninterested gaze, slowly reaching down and pulling up her sleeve to reveal the same scale tattoo Harrow wears. The girl smirks and kicks the ball away, ignoring Stevens requests for help.

“She's one of them too.” Steven whispers to himself, disbelief coloring his voice.

“I'm pretty sure everyone here is part of this stupid cult.” Kat mutters, scowling out at the building before them.

Kat just wants to go back to her flat and crawl into bed, maybe eat an entire tub of ice cream, but she is stuck here with a shady cult that most likely wants her and Steven dead. Great, perfect way to spend her evening.

Stevens' head snaps to the rearview mirror, frowning at whatever Marc is saying and pushing back, “No, no, I saw what you did to those people…”

Marc says something that makes Stevens face turn venomous as he spits out, “You leave her out of this, don't you dare insinuate she's anything like you.”

Kat glances at the mirror and for a split second thinks she sees Steven looking right at her through it, harsh eyes that captivate her, but when she turns to glance at the Steven beside her she sees he isn't looking at her at all, still glaring at the mirror.

“I am never,” Steven continues to Marc, enunciating each word carefully, “Going to give you control again. Ever. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant from the gift shop.” Harrows voice crackles through the car radio.

The car doors open suddenly and Steven tumbles out into a heap on the ground. Kat slides across the seat and steps over Stevens body as she gets out and helps Steven up. In front of them, is Harrow in all his creepy glory. His crocodile headed cane held between his hands as he leans on it towards Kat, searching eyes that seem to pierce through her studying her.

“You really need a new wardrobe,” Kat says in way of greeting, gesturing at the high collared red robe Harrow wears, “This is just way too culty, not even trying to hide it really.”

Harrow laughs, as if Kat is just an amusing child to indulge, “You are very interesting. Katalya Menteuse.”

“Oh great, I'm interesting to the weird stalker man, just what I wanted.” Kat bites, rolling her eyes and keeping Harrow's attention as long as she can from Steven who shakes with fear behind her.

“I'm sorry for the wait,” Harrow apologizes, now addressing them both, “We just needed a chance to better understand your situation.”

“Well you could have just asked.” Steven mumbles. Kat suppresses a smile at Stevens comment, he is sassy when he wants to be.

“Let's get you out of those cuffs.” Harrow offers with a kind smile, turning back to get the keys from DC Kennedy who flanks his side.

Kat holds up her cuffless wrists with a wry smile, cuffs dangling empty from her fingers “No need, already took care of that for you.”

Steven copies Kat and shows his own free wrists.

“Ah, thank you.” Harrow says, his eyes narrowing on Kat as a baiting smile appears on his face, “Do tell me, Ms. Menteuse, how did you manage to get out of them? Where did you learn to do that?”

Kats eyes narrow, suspicion descending as a cloud on her mind. He’s searching for something, he wants her to tell the truth that would reveal her secrets. But how could he possibly know she even has secrets? Perhaps she's just getting too paranoid after years of her job.

“I got bored over the weekend.” Kat shrugs nonchalantly, matching Harrow's smirk, a challenge in her eyes for him to call her bluff.

Harrow nods, accepting her answer and back away from the challenge. Instead, Harrow turns to the DCs and dismisses them, beginning to lead Steven and Kat into the little town they had set up.

“Aren't they terrific?” Harrow asks, referring to the DCs, as Steven and Kat walk wearily beside him.

“Yeah, they're lovely.” Steven mutters sarcastically, a small smile quirking his lips as Kat chuckles beside him.

The town is admittedly beautiful. Yellow bulbs hang on strings from the open roofed brick buildings, twinkling their light down on the people in the square. Green gardens decorate the cobblestone pathways with people milling about and going about their night, peaceful smiles on all their faces. It’s all beautiful. Hard to believe this is the base for a world destroying cult.

“Well,” Harrow interrupts the silence conversationally, “No wonder your scales don't balance. It must be very difficult, having all those voices in your head.”

Steven startles, eyes widening as he looks at Harrow.

“Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Khonsue.” Harrow lists, not noticing or not caring of Stevens growing distress, “I'm curious, do you think Konshue chose you as his avatar because your mind would be so easy to break, or because it was broken already?”

Kat is about to surge forward to slap Harrow, when Stevens hand looping through hers stops her. Steven searches for comfort from her and Kat can’t leave him searching. Giving his hand a squeeze, Kat settles for just glaring at Harrow with pure disgust.

“No, I'm not broken.” Steven disagrees, shaking his head resolutely, “Just need some help maybe.”

“That's right.” Harrow immediately agrees, his voice becoming deceivingly soft, “Thats why I'm here, to help.”

Kat snorts derisively, raising a disbelieving brow, “Really? You kidnap people because you want to help them?”

“I needed a way to get you both here.”

“An invitation would have sufficed.” Kat says flatly, unimpressed with Harrow's methods.

A gentle breeze of cool wind blows through the trees as Bastet appears crouching on top of a nearby roof, her slitted eyes narrow at harrow and her fangs reveal as she bears her teeth at him like a possessive lioness.

“Kill him now, be done with this.” Bastet offers unhelpfully from her spot.

Kat keeps her eyes trained on Harrow, not reacting to Bastets appearance. She doesn't need to give Harrow anything else to pick on, and she is not going to underestimate his perception abilities. Though Bastets suggestion does not surprise her, out of the two of them, the goddess is always the peaceful, calm one, while Kat is a loose cannon being fired at random.

“He has hurt many, I have seen it.” Bastet answers Kats unasked question, Kat hates when she somehow understands what Kat wants to know before she asks.

Harrow is speaking and Kat nods at all the right moments but she isn't listening. She is observing instead. People lie, observations seen by oneself does not.

‘Harrow takes care of these people,” Kat notes, examining the polished and comfortable look of the people milling around, ‘They believe in his cause, and now we are surrounded by them. Great job Katalya, really doing lots of great protecting right now.’

A sharp wind brings Kat back to attention, knocking over a trash can and sending the contents of the bin flying. On the rooftop, Bastet glares at another rooftop that, to Kat, appears empty.

“Do you see him? You see him right now?” Harrow asks Steven, stepping closer to the man, “that's a privilege I no longer have.”

“I wouldn't call seeing ancient deities a ‘privilege’” Kat mutters under her breath, earning a weak chuckle from Steven and a sharp glare from Bastet.

“Ungrateful child.” Bastet tuts, smirking as Kat finally acknowledges the goddess to glare at her.

Another bin is thrown to the ground with a loud clang. Steven jumps out of his skin as he steps back from whatever he sees. Kat rests a hand on Stevens shoulder, steadying his shaking arms.

“What's he saying?” Harrow asks calmly, “Is he telling you to kill me?”

Harrow speaks as if it's all an amusing game, like discussing an old familiar friend. Kat looks to where Stevens' terrified gaze is locked and back to Bastet, tilting her head and silently asking if what Steven sees is Konshue. Bastet nods and rolls her eyes, like Konshue’s presence is a mere annoyance to her.

“Well just remember,” Harrow tells Steven, “You don't have to do everything he asks.”

“Actually killing you seems like a pretty good suggestion.” Kat remarks bitterly, crossing her arms and cocking her head to the side as she listens to Bastets low hum of agreement.

“Well before you get excited and put on the cape,” Harrow says with an easy relaxed smile, looking between Steven and Kat, “I'd love to take this opportunity to show you around.”

Harrow gestures to an arch that leads further into the compound, an inviting look on his face that Kat doesn't trust.

Another bang, nearer now as Konshue throws a fit, makes a gasp escape Steven and his arm dart out as if to shield Kat from the god.

Kat gently lowers Stevens arm, whispering to him, “It's okay, he can't hurt you. That's all he can do without help.”

Thankfully Steven is so startled by the appearance of Konshue that he doesn't even think to question Kats knowledge. Harrow gives Kat an appraising look, making her skin crawl and her frown deepen as he seems to know her, but she does not know him.

“Come.” Harrow ushers them along, placing a hand behind Stevens back and herding him along.

Kat follows close behind, taking in the diverse people and the sounds of chatter flowing from different areas. As much as she loathes to admit it, Harrow has set up a good home for these people.

“See, this neighborhood used to have the highest crime rate in all of the city,” Harrow tells them, smiling and greeting the people who pass by with a familiar friendliness, “There was so much suffering, so much pain. It was truly heartbreaking.”

Harrow's face is masked with a sympathy that Kat cannot determine its honesty. He may truly care for these people, and that messes with Kats head. She knows that the world isn't just black and white, that morality and life is never that simple, but it would be so much easier if it was.

Kat can't help but ask, “And now? How is it now?”

“Now, people don't lock their doors at night. They feel safe.”

Harrow is about to say more when he is distracted by a man carrying a large wooden box filled with green leaflings passes by, “Oh Chase, are those tomatoes?”

Chase smiles a brilliantly white smile and nods proudly, showing off the vibrant plants emerging from their dirt.

“You have a green thumb,” Harrow compliments, clasping the man on the shoulder and appraising the red tomatoes that have just started to bloom, “Beautiful, thank you.”

Chase leaves with pride beaming on his face as Harrow continues walking, a tinkling crunch sounding with each step and Kat realizes with horror that there are shards of glass in his shoes.

Kat feels sick, her eyes fixed on Harrow's feet as she trails behind silently. Each crunch of glass makes nausea rise in her throat.

“But people don't want to hear about the good news,” Harrow continues, “they'd rather cling to their fear,” Harrow levels Kat with an all too knowing stare, “Cling to their pain.”

“What are you-”

Kats question is interrupted by a loud bleat.

“Goat.” Steven says mutely, pointing to said goat.

Kats shoulders immediately drop and her face softens as she takes in the small brown and black goat. It stares back at her with its yellow eyes and rectangular pupils, tilting its head as it examines her. Kat copies the goat, tilting her head back at it.

Steven watches Kats interaction with a fond smile. His chest feels tight, not a bad tight, but a pleasant unfamiliar tightness that makes his heart feel warmer. his ears are blessed with the bright sound of Kats laugh as the goat butts its head against her hand, demanding to be pet.

“It’s a goat!” Kat excitedly whispers, afraid to scare the goat away as she is softly petting it, forgetting for a moment the danger around them, “I'm naming you Bob.” She tells the goat with a firm nod.

Kat turns to face Steven and feels her heart stop. His brown eyes are so deep and soft, sparkling in the warm glow of the bulbs above. His black hair curls against his forehead in messy waves as he looks at her with a softness that melts her hard edges and smooths her sharp pains.

“Hello Bob.” Steven greets the goat like a dork, making Kat laugh again much to Steven's delight.

“You two are quite close.” Harrow observes, breaking the soft moment by reminding them of his presence.

“Huh? Uh yeah, I guess so.” Steven nods, giving Kat a shy smile.

Harrow hums and looks between them, something forming behind his eyes but what, Kat can only guess.

From above, a voice calls down to them in what Kat recognizes as Mandarin but doesn’t understand what's being said. A man is sitting on a ledge and watching them curiously. He says something else to Harrow, which Harrow easily replies to, also in mandarin.

“You all speak chinese?” Steven asks as Harrow laughs at a joke the man on top of the ledge told.

“Mandarin.” Kat corrects.

“Very good Katalya.” Harrow praises, “You have an ear for languages.”

Kat frowns at him, his praise leaving a sour taste in her mouth, “I travel a lot.”

Harrow accepts this and continues walking, with Steven and Kat trailing behind.

“Yes, we all aspire to learn three languages,” Harrow tells them, “So we teach each other, we share our knowledge.”

“Wow.” Steven speaks up, gazing at the camp with new eyes.

“Are you hungry?” Harrow asks suddenly, adding, “The food is free. You're a vegan right?”

“Yeah.” Steven nods, interest sparking in his eyes.

“So am I.”

Harrow leads them into a large pavilion with tables and chairs in rows throughout the room and a buffet line with cooks serving behind it. A few people are sitting in chairs and finishing meals, waving at Harrow as he passes by and giving curious looks at the newcomers.

“You might want to try the lentil soup, I made it this morning.” Harrow suggests, grabbing a bowl and spooning some hot soup into it, “It’s Victor's recipe.”

Harrow nods to a man with tan skin. Victor is ruggedly handsome and can cook, the full package.

“Gracias, Victor!” Harrow calls to the man who nods and smiles back, Harrow turns to Kat and Steven, telling them, “He's from the Yucatan, he's very funny.”

Harrow shakes his head and chuckles at some private joke that Steven and Kat aren't privy to.

Steven grabs his own bowl of soup and Kat does the same, giving the food a suspicious look and smelling for anything odd. They sit at a nearby table, Kat pressed in beside Steven and keeping her eyes warily on the people at the other tables.

Unable to whiff out anything, Kat bluntly asks Harrow, “Is this poisoned?”

Harrow frowns at Kat, warmth disappearing from his face, “You think I would poison my own people?”

“I think you would poison us.” Kat retorts, eyes narrowing at Harrow.

“I’m disappointed in you, Katalya,” Harrow says disapprovingly, “That you think so poorly of me when all I'm doing is helping these people.”

“Just answer the question Harrow.”

“No.” Harrow finally answers with an exasperated sigh, “The soup is not poisoned.”

With that confirmed, Kat brings a hesitant spoonful to her lips and scowls as she realizes that the soup is actually good. Following Kats lead, Steven begins to eat as well, humming appreciatively as he savors the flavor.

While they eat, Harrow watches them with calculating eyes. Kat and Steven sit close, leaning slightly against each other, drawing comfort from the other. Bastet stands protectively behind Kat, invisible to all but Kat who can see the flow of her dark purple robes in the edges of her vision.

“I know being on the right side of things is important to you,” Harrow begins, his voice is gentle, convincing with its care softening it as he speaks to Steven. “Konshue always tries to ensnare those with a strong moral conscience.”

“Is that why he chose you?” Kat questions, raising an unimpressed brow.

Harrow fights to keep an impassive face but Kat can tell she's getting under his skin. Good.

Steven jumps and whips his head to stare at the space next to him, hearing and seeing Konshues fit.

“You don't have to listen to him.” Harrow tells Steven calmly, “He often throws temper tantrums like a two year old. None of the other gods respect him.”

“Well at least this snake can tell one truth.” Bastets voice rumbles behind Kat, amusement dancing on her low voice.

Kat leans her head on her hand to cover the smirk creeping over her face.

“Perhaps that's why he's banished.” Harrow muses. A pause as Steven listens to something Konshue says before Harrow asks, “What's he saying now? ‘I am real justice’?”

“Can you hear him?” Steven asks slowly, turning to face Harrow.

“Not anymore.” Harrow says with a relieved smile that falls into one of regret, “I was his former avatar. Before you, I was his ‘Fist of Vengeance’”

“So what? This is just exs fighting?” Kat asks wryly, delighted at the way Harrow's face darkens for a moment.

“Mmm,” Steven hums dismissively, “I'm not the fist of anything, that's the little American man living inside of me.”

Kat snorts and brings her fist up to muffle her laughter, this is serious business. Kat is sure to remember to tease Steven about this later though, if they make it out alive.

“And that's Marc?” Harrow questions, raising a brow and leaning on his steepled hands.

Steven nods and continues eating. Kat takes the moment to ask some questions of her own.

“Is there glass in your shoes?”

Harrow looks surprised, glancing down at his sandals and back up at Kat, “Yes, I'm surprised you noticed Katalya.”

“Please stop calling me that.” Kat groans, ignoring Stevens' questioning glance and continuing her questioning, “Why do you walk with glass in your shoes?”

“It is my repentance for the evil I have done.” Harrow admits sorrowfully, closing his eyes against the regret, “The evils Konshue had me do.”

Kat leans forward, her eyes searching harrows for answers, as she presses, “Evils? What does he do?”

Harrow doesn't answer. His face draws into a mask of sorrow, deep wrinkles from the years becoming more pronounced on his forehead. A tense silence settles over the three like a blanket that suffocates rather than comforts.

Steven finally interrupts the silence, commenting, “Soups.. Yeah it's very good, lovely. Ace.”

A small smile graces Kats face as the tension slowly falls away. Harrow takes a breath before looking at Kat intensely, weighing his words.

“Konshue punishes those who have already walked a path of evil.” Harrow tells her, “His retribution comes too late.”

“So your repentance is for allowing the ‘evil’ to happen and not stopping it sooner?” Kat asks, trying to truly understand.

On one hand, the prevention of harm would save so many people. But on the other hand, who are they to play god with people's lives? Besides, how would you know who is going to commit crimes beforehand?

“Yes, by the time Konshues fist of vengeance arrives, people have already suffered.” Harrow explains, his face becoming open and inviting as his tone becomes proud, “Ammit knows this all too well. She tears evil up by the root, casting her judgment before any evils done.”

Beside Kat, Stevens brows draw together in thought, his lips pursed as he listens to Harrow with interest.

“But how can you know whether someone is bad if they haven't done anything?” Kat wonders, unsure of where she stands. After all, she is Bastets avatar, protector of women and children, is she not doing the same by hurting those seeking to hurt others? Where would the judgement end?

“That's why we must resurrect her, Ammit will know.” Harrow answers with full confidence, believing in his goddess of judgment.

“Right…” Steven slowly speaks up, turning over his thoughts in his mind before speaking, “Isn't that a bit dodgy? Trusting the judgment of a weird crocodile lady?”

“Exactly! That's what I'm saying!” Kat agrees, smiling at Steven before turning to Harrow, “How can we know her judgment is right and just? Everyone has different opinions on what defines justice.”

Steven nods along, glad he and Kat are thinking the same thing. She really is brilliant and Steven would be happy to just sit and listen to her talk.

“You don't need to doubt her judgment.” Harrow informs them, plowing on when Kat raises a disbelieving brow and opens her mouth to ask more questions, “Ammit will light the path to good by eradicating the choice of evil, which brings us to the scarab.”

Around them people appear from the shadows and benches creak as the people sitting stand and circle loosely around the three. Kats hands instinctively go to her hair where her blades would be, before realizing with frustration that she is just Kat right now, not avatar assassin extraordinair.

“Wait, hold on, before we get to that,” Kat interrupts Harrow, raising a hand, “You said you're eradicating the choice of evil? Do you mean you're taking people's free will?”

Kats looks at Harrow incredulously, not believing this man's insane ideas. She had been somewhat understanding before, but now she can not stand by this. No free will, no choice of path, what kind of life is that?

“We are simply taking away the option of evil, making the world better by exterminating those who would see harm done.” Harrow tells her, speaking as if she were an uninformed child.

Kat bristles, her tightly clenched fists shaking at her sides, “If you kill all who might someday do something bad, that would be genocide!”

“A necessary control.” Harrow says simply, unbothered by Kats anger. Harrow brushes away Kats concerns and returns to the topic at hand, “The scarab functions as a kind of compass leading to Ammits tomb.”

The people around them circle further in, trapping Kat and Steven in the compound. They stand a distance away, giving Harrow and them a wide circle while still cutting off any exits. The people are calm, no traces of malice on their faces but their actions give the message loud and clear: Steven and Kat will not be allowed to leave before turning over the scarab.

“She's out there, waiting, longing to be freed.” Harrow says, walking forward and standing uncomfortably close to Steven and Kat, who was preparing herself for a fight. “While the cruel masses deserve to face her judgment and in the wake of their screams, evil eradicated,” Harrow sighs as if he has breathed in peace itself, “To exist at that moment, heaven on earth.”

Harrow closes his eyes and smiles peacefully before opening them and asking, “So, the scarab?”

“We don't have it.” Kat shrugs, a smug smile crossing her lips before she quickly fights it back, reminding herself that her lifes not the only one on the line.

“No?” Harrow's stare is entirely unbelieving, fixing his eyes on Steven, who is more likely to not lie.

“Honestly, we don't.” Steven agrees, raising his hands defensively as he looks at the group surrounding them nervously.

“Well maybe you know someone who does?” Harrow continues, stepping closer, a weak intimidation tactic in Kat's opinion.

‘Steven, don't say her name, don't mention her, don't say anything.’ Kat implores mentally, hoping that Steven can somehow read her mind or something.

“Maybe Marc?” Harrow presses when Steven doesn't say anything.

Steven stares at the bowl of soup in front of him, listening to who Kat assumes to be Marc before turning back to Harrow and saying, “No, I don't.”

Harrow's frown deepens, unsatisfied with Stevens answer, “May I speak with Marc?”

“Uh um…” Steven begins stuttering, eyes darting to Kat and back.

“Marc, what has Konshue promised you?” Harrow asks, not even bothering to wait for Steven to say anything or give any permission, “That this is your last mission? That you'll be free?”

Kat glances to Bastets form as she slinks behind Harrow, watching Kat curiously. Kat can understand wanting to be free of a god, having your own life, your own privacy. There have been moments where Kat had contemplated stopping being Bastets avatar, moments when she thought that perhaps her life would be better without the goddess looking over her shoulder, but always she would eventually decide that the good she does by being Bastets avatar outweighs her comfort.

If Konshue is as insane as Bastet and Harrow think, then Kat fully understands why Marc would want to leave.

“Trust me when I tell you,” Harrow continues, eyes imploring, “Konshue is a liar. There is always one last thing.”

Steven stares back at Harrow with wide eyes, silent as he digests this information. Kat wonders if Marc heard any of what Harrow said, if he agrees with any of it. There’s so much Kat doesn’t know about Marc, so much she wants to understand about him.

“Sorry.” Steven slowly says, scrunching his brows together in thought, “If Ammit judges people pre-evil, like, before the fact, then isn't she judging an innocent person?”

Kats mouth drops open, staring unabashedly at Steven with pride, “Steven, you're brilliant.”

Steven glows at the praise and continues, asking Harrow, “A thought can’t be evil can it? I think about killing my boss all the time, but I wouldn't actually do it.”

“I would.” Kat mutters under her breath, remembering Donna's face as she insulted Steven repeatedly and smiling as she remembers the crack of Donna's nose under her fist.

“What about a child?” Steven demands, growing more confident as Kat grins proudly beside him, “Would she kill a child for something they might do in 30 years?”

“I'm glad you mentioned that.” Harrow says easily, making Steven falter, “sometimes the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison sometimes is only dosage.”

“What a load of-” Kat is cut off by Stevens finger poking her side warningly, his eyes intent on harrowing and the people around them.

“Consider a diseased limb,” Harrow tells Kat, as if its basic reasoning, “Amputation, horrific and grotesque, is necessary for larger health.”

“Are you actually comparing a fucking genocide to amputation?” Kat asks incredulously, crossing her arm and clenching her jaw as she regards Harrow with clear disgust.

“A child is not a diseased limb!” Steven agrees, looking at Harrow with shock, “Sorry, is that….is that what you're all into?” Steven looks at the group surrounding them, “Killing children and that?”

Steven pauses before continuing, “Maybe that's just me but, I kinda draw the line at child murder.”

“I think most sane people draw the line at child murder.” Kat adds, glaring at Harrow, “Yeah, you're not getting that scarab.”

“Oh?” Harrow raises his brows, not surprised, more disappointed.

“No way in hell am I letting you release Ammit and start this mass murder.” Kat tells him firmly, gritting her teeth and staring down Harrow.

“Always the hero aren't you Katalya?” Harrow's voice is akin to mocking, neutral enough to have deniability.

“Oh believe me, I am the furthest you can get from a hero.” Kat chuckles derisively.

Beside her, Steven looks at her with confusion written on his face. How Kat, the woman who is constantly defending him and helping him can think so little of herself, can think she's so far from heroism, is astounding.

“Oh I know Katalya, I know all of your sins.” Harrow leans forward on his cane, so sure in his words that it shakes Kat to the core.

Kat shakes her head, stepping back from Harrow. A dread, a fear she hasn’t felt for so long, fills her and grasps her by the throat, preventing any sound she could have made. No one can know, no one but herself can ever know her acts of evil and the wounds they left on her soul.

Steven squeezes Kats shoulder, bringing her wide eyes to him. Every fear softens, not disappearing but being overwhelmed by the comfort in those brown pools. His hand is gentle and calloused on her shoulder, a weight to ground herself too.

“Do you know what this is?” Harrow asks them, gesturing to his cane and watching Kat with curious eyes.

Kat still cannot speak and Steven decides to answer for her, “It's a cane, yeah,”

“This is Ammits gift to her first avatar.” Harrow holds the cane up, fingers gliding over it with holy reverence, “It contains a tiny sliver of her power. I don't want to use it, I don't.”

“Then don't.” Steven says, more a question than anything, eyes darting worriedly to Kat as she seems almost lost to the world around her. “I can't help you, we can't help you.”

“Yes, you can.” Harrow insists, more determined, “I need to know, where is the scarab?”

Steven shakes his head, denying any knowledge.

Harrow doesn't accept this and leans closer to Steven, as the circle of people close around them more tightly, “Where is the scarab?’

Steven continues to helplessly shake his head, stepping in front of Kat, trying to shield her from Harrow and the people circling them.

“Where is the scarab?” Harrow demands, more insistent, threatening.

The air is tense, ready to snap at the wire. People surround them on all sides and Kat is stuck in her memories. Memories of blood and sharp silver. Memories of screams and pain that she convinced herself she doesn't care about. Memories of a face with eyes like hers screaming in terror.

“I have it!

A voice shouts across the crowd. Kats head snaps to the sound as the circle parts to reveal Layla, with her hand raised high above her head and cast in the yellow streetlights glow, scarab resting in her grip.