Steven Grant's life is anything but extraordinary. He wakes up in his flat, feeds his fish, and then heads to work at a museum gift shop. He leaves his mum voicemails everyday, but doesn't seem to ever hear back, aside from postcards. His sleeping h...
Day turns to night, the air has a slight chill and the water is calm as the boat glides across it with light purple lights dazzling above their heads as up beat music sings to them.
Layla and Cleo sit on one side of the boat, across from Marc. They sit on the far side, away from the other passengers as it takes them to their destination down the Nile.
And while some things have been pre discussed, questions still loom about.
" So what exactly are we gonna do here?" Marc questions.
And Layla can't help but smile.
" It's not pleasant being left in the dark, is it?" She ponders.
Marc averts his gaze as he sucks in his pride.
" Okay," He sighs, " I get that you're not happy about me leaving so quickly and coming to Cairo. I understand."
"Is that your apology?" Layla scoffs.
" Just so we can get through tonight, maybe let's just give our shit a rest for the moment," Marc offers as he motions between them, " and just try to strategize before we get to..."
" Mogart's," Cleo states, her head turned and eyes fixated on the water below.
" Just so you know," Layla starts as she leans forward, " I'm not here to help you. I'm here for Leo and for everyone else who would die if Harrow succeeds."
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His brows furrow at her words.
" Leo," Marc mutters as he glances at the other woman, " You guys have nicknames now?"
" We've always had them," Cleo states once more, her head still turned, " This is just the first time you've noticed."
He sighs as he looks down to the wooden floor beneath his feet, biting his bottom lip as he tries to regain his focus.
" So," Marc starts as he brings his head up, " this Mogart guy. He's really gonna have the sarcophagus?"
" Yes," Layla responds as she leans back against the pole and fiddles with her fingers, " I asked around. Mogart's collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities."
The music playing and the people dancing from the other side of the small boat draws in their attention and brings to their eyes the sight of locals dancing, smiling and overall having a good time. And yet, Cleo doesn't bother. She finds her mind getting lost in the dark and inky waters. How it moves and how it sounds seems to draw out anything and everything else. It seems to give her a moment of peace. A momentary lapse. Something oh so simple that soothes her and settles her nerves that have been working overtime these past few days.
" I haven't heard that sound since... since that restaurant," Marc says softly in an attempt to catch her attention.
But he doesn't, for while Cleo hears his words, she doesn't truly listen. And it hurts, but he's only receiving a taste of his own medicine.
