Control | Moon Knight

9.0

As Cleo steps back into the room, her hands balancing a tray of coffee and pastries, her eyes instinctively seek out Steven, who now occupies the driver's seat of their shared body. The sight that greets her sends a shiver down her spine. Steven's slouched shoulders and heavy breathing betray the weight he carries within. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes, pooling like liquid despair around the edges.

"Steven," she utters softly, her voice filled with concern and tenderness.

His voice trembles as he whispers, his words a fragile confession laden with confusion and fear, "I don't remember how I got here. I don't... I-I don't."

Cleo's heart wrenches as she witnesses the fragility of Steven's grasp on reality. The lines between their individual experiences blur, leaving them both suspended in a disorienting haze. Yet, she remains resolute, determined to anchor them both in the strength of their connection.

"Steven," Cleo repeats, her voice filled with gentle conviction.

She empties her hands, then reaches out, her fingers intertwining with his trembling ones. She steps closer, standing in front of him, offering solace in her presence.

"It's okay," She assures him, her voice laced with compassion and understanding, "It was Marc. Marc came home this morning."

"It wasn't me... I don't remember anything."

Cleo's grip tightens, her hands a lifeline anchoring them amidst the tempest of their minds. She senses the depths of Steven's vulnerability, the haunting fear of the unknown that permeates their existence. With each passing moment, the enigma of their shared identity grows more complex, testing the bounds of their resilience. Seeking to offer comfort, Cleo pulls Steven into her embrace, allowing him to lean heavily against her, his breath ragged against her shoulder. Her touch is gentle, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. But as her eyes happen to wander toward the mirror in front of them, a chilling realization strikes her.

Reflected in the glass is not just Cleo holding Steven, but an ominous presence towering over them both. Khonshu looms with an otherworldly aura, casting an unsettling shadow across the room. Cleo's breath catches in her throat, and her embrace tenses in an instant.

Her entire body turns in a swift motion, her gaze darting to the space behind her, hoping to find solace in the familiarity of her surroundings. But all she is met with is an empty, barren wall, devoid of any tangible presence.

Nothing is there.

Nobody is here.

" Did you see that?" She whispers in disbelief.

" She what, love?"

Cleo's throat goes dry. She swallows a thick lump as she exhales a shaky breath.

" Nothing," Cleo sighs, " Thought I saw something."

Cleo stands at the threshold of her temporary sanctuary, her heart pounding within her chest, a symphony of anticipation and apprehension reverberating through her veins. Her hands tremble slightly as she gathers her belongings, her fingertips brushing against the familiar objects that ground her in a reality that seems increasingly tenuous. Her gaze flickers toward the mirror one final time, a silent plea for strength and resilience. The reflective surface taunts her, holding a distorted image of her own reflection and the dark, looming figure of Khonshu. With a deep breath, Cleo straightens her spine, her eyes blazing with a defiant resolve. She refuses to succumb to the shadows that encroach upon her mind and soul.

The bustling streets of Cairo surround them, a vibrant tapestry of life that stretches in all directions. The city's symphony of sounds envelops them, the cacophony of voices, honking horns, and haggling merchants blending into a distant hum. It is as if the universe itself conspires to quiet the external distractions, allowing Cleo and Steven to focus on the weighty purpose that propels them forward.