The suffocating silence that followed Thutmose's question still gripped the chamber like a noose—tight, tense, and unrelenting. The air had weight, pressing against lungs and wrapping around throats, heavy with unshed answers and accusations too dangerous to voice aloud.
Even the torches lining the walls seemed to flicker more slowly, casting elongated shadows that danced with unease.
Then—
A shift.
Subtle. Like a ripple in still water.
Every head in the chamber turned in unison, to where the sound had come from. A feeling stirred in their bones—a presence. One that had not been there a moment ago… or had been, all along, unnoticed.
Eyes scanned the chamber with confusion… until they found him.
A lone figure stood leaning casually against the far wall, half-swallowed by the shadows cast by a nearby torch sconce. His head bowed slightly, eyes closed—not in rest, but in something more deliberate. Stillness, unnatural and practiced.
