In the Mummy World
Inside Daniel's mansion, the hall felt tense in a way it usually didn't.
Evelyn paced back and forth, her movements sharp and impatient. She stopped near the table, glanced at the door, then shook her head and resumed pacing.
"Why does this always happen when Daniel isn't available?" she muttered, irritation seeping through her voice.
Behind her, the air rippled.
A blue portal bloomed open with a familiar hum.
She stopped and let out a long breath. "Thank goodness."
Daniel stepped out.
Relief touched her face—briefly.
Then she noticed the woman standing just behind him, close enough that it was clear she hadn't arrived by accident.
Evelyn's smile froze mid-expression.
Her eyes lingered on the unfamiliar face. Blonde hair. Poise. Very much there.
Silence stretched.
Who is this woman?
Evelyn's wife instincts were screaming.
Every single one of them.
He is absolutely up to no good.
Still, she forced a polite smile—the kind perfected through years of experience.
"Dear husband," she said sweetly, eyes never leaving Daniel's face, "who is this woman?"
"Husband?" Elizabeth echoed at the same time.
She turned sharply toward Daniel, confusion flashing across her face. He had never mentioned being married. Not once. And suddenly the teasing, the closeness, the everything took on a very different meaning.
"If you're married," Elizabeth said slowly, "then why—"
Daniel opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then tried again.
"Ummm… I have a very good explanation," he said, nodding with absolute confidence.
Which was impressive, considering he had none.
Inside, his mind had already switched into marital damage-control mode.
Rule one: never look guilty—especially when you absolutely are.
Rule two: never let the other side seize the initiative. The moment they do, the battle is over before it starts.
Rule three: maintain perfect composure, even when you are—objectively, undeniably, catastrophically—in trouble.
Because panicking only upgrades the situation from explainable disaster to legendary mistake told at family gatherings forever.
After all, looking foolish was far worse than actually being wrong.
Evelyn folded her arms.
"Good," she said calmly. Too calmly. "Because if I'm not satisfied with that explanation, it won't end well."
Elizabeth crossed her arms as well, mirroring the posture without realizing it.
"Yes," she added. "Explain."
Daniel glanced from one woman to the other.
Two pairs of eyes. Two very different kinds of danger.
"…Right," he said. "So. Let's all stay calm."
Daniel tilted his head, deliberately calm. "Evy, why don't you start from the beginning," he said. "You called me urgently."
Evelyn froze—then the tension rushed back into her face.
"Jonathan is in danger."
Daniel's expression sharpened. "What did he do this time?"
"I don't know," she said quickly. "I just received this." She handed him a folded note, her fingers tight around the edges.
Daniel opened it and read.
We have your idiot brother.
If you want him alive, bring one million pounds.
Come alone. Tonight. This location.
He lowered the paper slowly.
"…One million," Daniel repeated flatly. "They've priced him higher than he deserves."
Evelyn shot him a sharp glare.
"I'm joking," Daniel added smoothly, lifting both hands. "Lightening the mood. Don't worry—your brother will be safe."
His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"If anyone's in danger," he finished calmly, "it's the people who wrote that note."
***
At the same time,
In the back storage room of a certain bar.
Jonathan was tied to a chair, wrists bound tight, ankles secured.
Two men sat across from him on overturned crates, drinks in hand, relaxed in the way only people who thought they were in control could be.
"Um… I know I'm saying this again," Jonathan said carefully, shifting against the ropes, "but you really should release me. You don't understand my background."
One of the thugs let out a short laugh and took another long drink from his mug. "Oh, we understand your background just fine," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"All that bragging you do—how much money you've spent, how much you've drunk, how rich your family is. Why d'you think we grabbed you in the first place?"
Jonathan winced.
The second thug leaned back on his crate, grinning. "Yeah. Every night it's the same story. Gold in your house. Art on the walls. Diamonds the size of your head." He chuckled. "You kept talking like that, someone was bound to listen."
"I may have… exaggerated," Jonathan said weakly.
"Doesn't matter," the first thug replied. "We run this place. We hear things. And when we heard you running your mouth, we checked."
The second thug nodded. "Took a bit of digging, asking around. Turns out your family really is loaded."
Jonathan swallowed.
"So we figured," the first thug went on casually, setting his mug down, "why not turn all that noise into profit?"
"Easy job," the second added. "Snatch you. Send a note. Get paid."
Jonathan gave a wry smile, the kind that came from regret rather than confidence. He really shouldn't have drunk that much—or tried to look impressive in front of a few women at the bar. Somewhere between boasting and bad decisions, the wrong ears had been listening.
"Well," he said quietly, testing the ropes again without success, "I did warn you. My brother-in-law is… not a man you want to meet under unpleasant circumstances."
One of the thugs scoffed, taking another swig from his bottle. "Dangerous?" he said. "Our boss cracks people's skulls with his bare hands."
The other thug leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Yeah. So if your brother-in-law comes looking for you, he'll die right here."
Jonathan didn't argue. He just exhaled slowly.
Then the lights flickered.
Once. Twice.
The dim bulbs buzzed and stuttered, shadows jumping along the walls as if something large had just passed by outside the room.
Jonathan's head lifted.
"…Oh," he said, a note of relief slipping into his voice. "That'll be him."
*****
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