Daniel's POV)
The day started like any other, but my nerves were already fried before I even got out of bed. The Cleopatra project was due, and somehow, between the shadows in the basement and my brother acting like a ghost of himself, I had managed to piece together something halfway decent. At least, I hoped it was.
I shoved the folder into my bag and threw on a hoodie, barely glancing at the mirror. Lately, I didn't recognize myself when I looked. Maybe it was the dark circles under my eyes, or maybe it was something else—something I couldn't put my finger on.
The house was eerily quiet. Mom had left early again, and William was... wherever he went these days. His absence had started to feel like a permanent void in my life, but I didn't have time to dwell on it.
By the time I got to school, my head was spinning with facts about Cleopatra, the shadowy figure in the basement, and the unnerving thought that maybe—just maybe—these two things were connected.
"Dan!"
Trevor's voice broke through my thoughts as he jogged toward me. His hair was sticking up in every direction, as if he'd just rolled out of bed.
"Big day, huh?" he said, slinging an arm over my shoulder.
"Yeah," I muttered, adjusting the strap of my bag.
"You'll kill it," he said. "Just don't let Mr. Joe tear you apart during Q&A."
I groaned. "Thanks for the pep talk."
Trevor grinned and walked with me to class, oblivious to the storm brewing inside my head.
---
The classroom was alive with nervous energy when I walked in. Mr. Joe stood at the front, arms crossed, his stern eyes scanning the room like a hawk. He didn't have to say anything; his presence alone was enough to make us all squirm.
I slid into my seat and pulled out my folder, gripping it tightly.
"Alright, everyone," Mr. Joe said, his voice sharp and commanding. "Today, you're not just students—you're storytellers. Bring your figures to life. Make us care. If I don't believe you, neither will history."
Great, no pressure.
One by one, my classmates took their turns presenting. Julius Caesar. Joan of Arc. Alexander the Great. Each presentation was a mix of nervous stuttering and half-hearted enthusiasm.
Then it was my turn.
"Daniel," Mr. Joe said, motioning for me to come forward. "Let's hear it."
I stood up, my legs feeling like jelly as I made my way to the front of the room.
"Cleopatra VII," I began, opening my folder. My voice wavered for a moment, but I forced myself to keep going. "One of the most powerful and controversial figures in history. A woman who ruled Egypt during a time of turmoil, navigating alliances and betrayals with two of the most influential men of her era—Julius Caesar and Mark Antony."
As I spoke, the room quieted. My words flowed, and for a few minutes, I felt like I wasn't just reciting facts—I was telling a story.
"She was more than just a queen," I continued. "Cleopatra was a strategist, a linguist, and a leader who knew how to wield her power in a world dominated by men. She wasn't perfect, but that's what makes her human. Her resilience, even in the face of impossible odds, is what made her unforgettable."
When I finished, there was a moment of silence before Mr. Joe nodded. "Not bad," he said, his tone almost approving. "You brought her to life. But..."
Here it came.
"Why do you think Cleopatra has been so vilified in popular history?"
I hesitated. This wasn't in my notes. "Because she was a woman in power," I said slowly, searching for the right words. "And power makes people uncomfortable. Especially when it challenges what they think is normal."
Mr. Joe studied me for a moment before nodding again. "Good answer. Take your seat."
I breathed a sigh of relief as I walked back to my desk. Trevor gave me a thumbs-up from across the room, and I allowed myself a small smile.
---
The relief didn't last long.
By lunch, the weight of everything else came crashing back. I sat with Trevor, poking at my food while he rambled on about some new band he'd discovered.
"Dan," he said, waving a hand in front of my face. "You're zoning out again."
"Sorry," I muttered.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Just tired."
Trevor frowned. "You've been 'just tired' a lot lately. You sure everything's okay?"
I hesitated. Trevor was my best friend, but how could I tell him about the shadows, the basement, the voice that had whispered William's name?
"It's just... stuff at home," I said finally.
Trevor raised an eyebrow. "Stuff like your brother?"
The question caught me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"You don't talk about him anymore," Trevor said. "You used to. Did something happen?"
I looked away. "It's complicated."
Trevor didn't push, and I was grateful for that.
---
When I got home, the house was as silent as ever. The basement door was shut, but it still felt like it was watching me.
I dropped my bag by the stairs and stared at the door for a long moment.
I thought about William, about how distant he'd been, about the figure in the basement that had whispered his name.
Was it connected?
The thought made my chest tighten. I turned away and headed upstairs to my room.
I spent the rest of the night going through the motions—homework, dinner, scrolling through my phone—but my mind kept drifting back to the basement. To the shadows. To the cold.
When I finally crawled into bed, sleep didn't come easy. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that everything was fine.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't.