Steven did show up to his next session and Samson was relieved. When asked for the reason, Steven sighed and said:
"I wasn't in, last Friday. We… We try to keep a schedule but it's been… messed up. It was really bad last week. And this week too. They… They kinda locked me up, for a bit there." Steven looked haggard and as if he hadn't gotten much sleep at all. "They put up these barriers that I can't breach. I don't want to go to sleep, I don't want to just lose time and leave them all on their own when they're like this – but they wouldn't let me see. So they locked me up in our mind."

"You said you were getting along well with them", Samson said carefully, trying not to show how worried that confession made him.

"I do! We do. This is… It's just this project they're working on." Steven sighed. "I do understand why they want to keep me out of it. I'm just… upset about the how. Like they're trying to make me forget without even realizing."

"Is this about Moon Knight?" Samson asked gently. "About the work they do for Khonshu? I can only imagine how upsetting it must be for you, to know how much violence they wield with your body. But Steven, if that is something that bothers you, you have to address it. We have a police system for a reason-"
"No", Steven made and furrowed his brow unhappily. "You don't get it. I know they've hurt people in the past. But never more than those people hurt others. You… You can't understand."

"Then try to explain it to me, please", Samson asked gently.

XxX

Chapter 9 - Jake's secret

After they left the hotel, Jake let Steven take over to fill him in on the argument without needing to rehash the whole thing aloud. As they crossed the lobby, Steven's shock and sadness practically radiated through him, his thoughts racing at the tragedy of Layla's father's death—and Marc's secrecy.

"Blimey," Steven muttered as they made their way across the parking lot toward the rental car. "That's… that's horrific, mate. Her poor dad. And Marc's been keeping it from her for years?" He looked thoroughly disturbed. Jake could feel Steven's unease, his struggle to process both the personal betrayal and Jake's offer of brutal revenge.

Jake shrugged. "Yeah, well, maybe he thought he was saving her pain or something. But evidently, she's not over it and if it gives her closure, we might as well do something about it."

"Hang on," Steven whispered furiously, glancing around as they reached the car, his voice a sharp hiss. "I feel like I need to be the voice of reason here. The people on the plane were one thing—they came after us with guns blazing. But this… what you're planning is straight-up murder. You do know you can't solve everything with a bullet, right?"

Jake scoffed while Steven opened the car door and slipped into the back seat, Layla taking over the driving so they could have a semblance of privacy while they argued. "Of course, I know that. But this particular little marital quarrel happens to be perfectly solvable with a few well-placed head-shots."

"Don't 'perfectly solvable' me, mate," Steven argued. "Marc should have been honest, and I get that you're all angry about it—but taking her revenge doesn't fix the problem. It doesn't bring her dad back, it just adds blood to the pile."

Jake glared at him from the reflection in the window. "And who says revenge can't help? Marc should've done this a long time ago, Steven. These guys probably have blood on their hands, people's lives they destroyed—and not just hers. They're probably going to kill even more people in the future if we don't stop them. It's not like we'd be taking out innocent people here."

"I'm not saying they're saints," Steven retorted, his expression caught between frustration and distress. "I'm just saying I don't want you going off and murdering anyone without knowing they're truly guilty because you're being emotional. What if you get it wrong?"

Jake sighed, trying to rein in his temper, but his tone was still tight. "I never kill the wrong person, Steven. No", he cut his alter off when he opened his mouth, "I don't. Look, you remember Khonshu helping you heal, yeah? Well, he helps me kill. He marks the ones who deserve it." He glared at Steven, eyes burning with conviction. "If they're marked, I aim to kill. If they're not, I don't. Simple as that."

Steven's brow furrowed in surprise and hesitation. "Marked… how?" he asked, unable to mask his morbid curiosity.

"With a red dot between their eyes, like an aiming laser," Jake replied, his voice dark. "Keep a lookout for it next time. I don't know if it's something you'll see too, or if it's my personal little gift from Khonshu." He gave a sardonic smile, knowing Steven's discomfort with the god's influence.

They sat in silence for a beat, Steven grappling with Jake's words. His gaze drifted away, thoughts racing, as he chewed over the twisted ethics of their situation.

Finally, he exhaled, reaching a conclusion. "Alright. I guess… I guess I can live with that," he murmured, his voice a little unsteady, but resolute.

Jake gave a short nod. "That's all I'm asking."

The car slowed to a stop as the street ahead was choked with people, a mass of bodies gathered around something—or someone. Layla leaned forward, squinting through the windshield at the crowd. "What on earth…?"

Steven glanced out the window, trying to make sense of the scene. "Looks like there's a crowd… maybe some sort of street performance?" But as he watched, a strange tension hung over the group. There was an eerie, unsettling quiet to the crowd, like a reverence bordering on fear.

"Let's go see what's going on," Layla said, cutting the engine. They slipped out of the car, with Jake keeping a keen eye from the back of Steven's mind, his senses alert to every potential threat.

Pushing closer, Steven caught sight of a man standing at the center of the circle. He looked out of place—a tall, lean figure with long, silver-streaked hair and intense eyes that seemed to glint with something sharp, almost predatory. His clothes were simple but strange, almost ritualistic, with a long, dark coat hanging loosely over a high-collared shirt. In the dim light, his eyes scanned the crowd with an unsettling calm, as if he knew they hung on his every word.

"…and that is the beauty of Ammit's gift," he was saying in a low, steady voice. "Her justice spares none, yet condemns only those who would darken the future of our world."

Steven and Layla exchanged a quick, puzzled look.

The man turned his gaze to a woman near the front of the crowd, reaching out his hands as he beckoned her forward. She seemed both enthralled and terrified, glancing around as though looking for a way out but ultimately stepping closer. The crowd around them was tense, watching with rapt attention. The man took her hands in his, and that's when Steven noticed a peculiar tattoo on his forearm—a pair of scales, tipped slightly to one side. The man was balancing a dark wooden cane between his hands, the top adorned by a white crocodile head. As he grasped the woman's hands, the tattoo started to glow, a dim light emanating from it that sent shivers down Steven's spine.

"What's he doing?" Steven whispered to Layla, but she only shook her head, her face drawn with confusion and a hint of alarm.

The man closed his eyes, almost as if he were feeling something within her. Then, slowly, he opened them again, his face twisting into a mask of disappointment. "I'm sorry, my dear," he murmured softly, and the woman's face fell, fear flashing in her eyes. She tried to pull back, but his grip tightened.

Without warning, her body went rigid. A terrible, silent gasp escaped her lips as her skin turned pale, her eyes dimming until there was nothing left in them. She slumped to the ground, lifeless, her hand slipping from his as he let her fall.

Steven's heart hammered in his chest, horrified. "What… what did he just do?"

Layla's face was pale, her eyes fixed on the body lying limply on the ground. "That wasn't… that can't be real…"

But Jake had seen enough. From his vantage point in the shadows of Steven's mind, he knew exactly what this was—a judgment, one of a divine scale, and the man passing it was marked. Marked by Khonshu. A familiar flash of red glowed between the man's eyes, like a target just begging for a bullet.

"Steven," Jake's voice rumbled in the back of his mind, taut with urgency. "This guy's the one. The cult leader the goons on the plane mentioned."

Steven felt a surge of adrenaline and panic as he processed Jake's words. "Jake, not now!" he hissed under his breath, willing himself to stay calm.

"This is what Khonshu sent us here for!" Jake insisted, his voice fierce and steady. "I can end this right now."

But Steven shook his head, catching Layla's arm and tugging her back from the crowd. "There are people all around," he muttered, his voice urgent. "He's dangerous, yeah, but we're surrounded by innocents. If something goes wrong, he's not the only one who could get hurt. We can't draw attention to ourselves, Jake."

Layla nodded, her gaze still fixed on the cult leader as she let Steven pull her back a few more paces. "We don't even know who he is yet. We need more information. If he's as powerful as he seems, we can't risk a fight with all these people here."

Steven nodded firmly, swallowing down the tension. "Let's just get out of here quietly. We can track him down when it's safer."

They turned to slip back through the crowd, but before they could take another step, a voice—soft yet piercing, somehow cutting through the hum of the crowd—called out behind them.

"Mr. Spector! Or… is it Steven, today? Please, come closer. My name is Arthur Harrow and you are welcome to join us."

Steven froze, the blood draining from his face as he turned slowly. The man in the center of the crowd—Harrow, with that unnervingly calm expression—was looking directly at them. His gaze was eerily warm, as if greeting an old friend. Steven felt Layla tense beside him, her hand hovering protectively near her bag where the scarab was hidden.

Harrow raised a placating hand, his smile never fading. "Don't be alarmed. I regret the, ah, misfortune that took place on your journey here. It truly could've been avoided—had you only given me what I asked for."

Steven's heart hammered in his chest as he took an instinctive step backward. "Sorry, mate, but we're not exactly keen on letting you do… that"—he gestured faintly to the lifeless woman at his feet—"to any more people."

Harrow shook his head, almost pityingly. "You misunderstand, Steven. Ammit's justice is… swift, yes, but it's necessary. A world free from evil before it even takes form! You must see how it's better for all of us."

"Nope, can't say I do," Steven shot back, his voice shaking slightly as he tugged on Layla's arm, willing her to back away with him. But Harrow's calm demeanor only shifted, his face hardening ever so slightly as he took a step closer.

"Give me the scarab, and you'll walk out of here unharmed," he said, his tone now cold. "There's no need to make this difficult."

"Don't be a fool, Steven", Jake's voice snarled urgently in his head. "Get out of the way and let me deal with him! I'll have him down before he even knows what hit him."

"No way", Steven hissed back fiercely, struggling to keep his composure. "There's too many people—"

"Steven," Harrow interrupted, watching him intently. "You don't have to listen to the voices in your head. They have no power over you. Who is talking to you now? Is it Khonshu? Or Marc? Does he want to kill me?"

"I'm afraid there's someone a bit more bloodthirsty than either who wants you dead, mate", Steven returned with a chuckle.

The people around them tensed. They looked ready to close in, to obey Harrow's command the moment he gave one.

"Ah, yes. Your bloodthirsty alter", Harrow said, nodding slowly and Steven's eyes widened.

Harrow's words hung in the air, cutting through the noise of the crowd like the edge of a blade. "Are you surprised?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips as he held up a hand to halt his followers, their advance pausing as if held by some invisible leash. "I knew Khonshu would sent his new avatar after me, so naturally, I informed myself. It wasn't easy to get your medical records but they were very… illuminating." He leaned in, his gaze focused intently on Steven. "You think Jake Lockley is your ally? He's a monster, Steven. You know that deep down. You know he deserves punishment."

From within, Jake's voice surged, dark with anger and hatred. "I'll show him punishment. Steven, let me out!" He pushed against the barrier that separated him from Steven, a furious, visceral push, but Steven stood against it, his grip on the body steady.

"You're wrong!" he called to Harrow, his voice straining to keep the conviction steady. "Jake only hurts people who deserve it. People like you—who hurt innocents!"

A look of pity crossed Harrow's face, and his voice softened with a mock tenderness. "Oh, is that what you think? Has he really told you the whole story?" He glanced around at the gathering crowd, his voice a low murmur meant only for Steven. "Or has he hidden from you the truth about his greatest sin? The one death that shackles him in eternal rage and guilt…"

Jake went utterly still within Steven's mind, the boiling anger giving way to a cold, sinking fear. He could feel his heart hammering, a sick dread curling around him like a vice, as if Harrow's words reached down into the most vulnerable depths of his soul. How could he know—no one knew. He'd never told anyone. Not Marc, not Layla, not even Khonshu himself. This was a secret buried deeper than anything else.

But Harrow didn't stop. "He never told you how he killed your brother, did he?"

The words fell like a knife right to his chest. Jake felt himself seize up, a hollowness filling him so complete it hurt. He could almost feel Steven's horror as the weight of the accusation hit him, sending cracks through his certainty. Steven's knees went weak, the breath stolen from him.

"That's… that's impossible," Steven managed, his voice breaking as he took a small step backward. "I never had a brother. That can't… that can't be true. Jake would never… would never do that."

"Oh, but he did." Harrow's voice was gentle, persuasive, as though it hurt him too to have to share such a horrible truth. "A child as innocent as you can imagine. One whose soul Ammit would have protected. Your brother would be alive today if Khonshu hadn't let a killer walk free. If Ammit had been allowed to rule, that tragedy would never have happened, Steven. Wouldn't it have been better that way?"

A sickening doubt washed over Steven, hollowing him out from the inside. "I… I don't have a brother. You're lying!" He looked around wildly, reaching inward. "Jake, tell him!" he screamed, pleading. "Tell him it's not true!"

But Jake was silent, paralyzed by the flood of an old pain, of memories he'd buried so deeply that even he rarely dared to confront them. His voice, when he finally spoke, was fragile, like shattered glass. "Steven… I'm so sorry."

Steven's face crumpled, his disbelief transforming into something raw and haunted. Every word from Harrow twisted the wound deeper, scattering his trust like dust. His hand extended towards Steven as though offering absolution. "Help me free Ammit," he whispered. "She can heal this broken world. She will finally grant true justice to those who deserve it and spare the innocent."

From his left, a familiar, bone-chilling voice cut through, as Khonshu's spectral form materialized beside him, skeletal and commanding. "Don't listen to that cowardly parasite!" Khonshu's voice thundered with a fury that made Steven flinch. "Get the scarab to the mountain, now!"

Before Steven could answer, Layla was beside him, hissing urgently, "Don't listen to him, Steven! Run! You have to protect the scarab!"

But Steven looked at her, confused, her words echoing in his head like scattered fragments. Who was she telling him not to listen to? The whirlwind of voices and commands pulled him in different directions, dragging him under.

Then, with sudden clarity, he understood. He didn't have the scarab Harrow wanted. Layla was clutching it in her bag, and her eyes had narrowed with a quiet, fierce resolve. She met his gaze for a brief second, a flash of understanding passing between them before she whirled around, pushing through the crowd in a sudden, desperate bid for freedom.

The weight of the crowd's eyes swung to Steven, and he understood his part in the plan. He had to draw their attention.

Steven started to run and Harrow called out to his followers: "Do not let him escape with the scarab!"

"Steven", Jake said weakly, "please... Let me help you."

"Oh I think you've done plenty", Steven bit back as he barreled through three men trying to hold him, apologizing as he went. The words hurt as if Steven had given the knife in his heart a good twist and Jake felt himself sinking deeper.

"I'm sorry...", he whispered, tears wetting his eyes. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was Steven whirling around, facing his attackers with his arms up in a fighting pose that he shouldn't know, his body tense like a wire in a way that didn't fit him. Then everything went black.

XxX

AN: Did anyone notice that I missed my update yesterday? I didn't.

Please leave a review if you were waiting for me!

So Harrow finally takes the stage! Jake and Steven have been getting along for so long, I just had to throw a wrench in there.

Anyone here surprised what was going on? Good. Because as I mentioned, I do change their backstory slightly. Do not assume their past is exactly as it was portrayed in the show. It's very similiar, obviously, but not the same.

Challenge time!

What do you think happened with Jake and their brother? Write me in the comments.