The chamber of the Curatorium glowed with emerald light, its silence broken only by the slow, deliberate sound of your footsteps. Nefer was waiting. She had known this moment would come; the visions had shown her the glint of steel, the desperate fire in your eyes. And yet, when the dagger finally flashed toward her, she moved with precision, not hesitation.

Her hand snapped forward, seizing your wrist and twisting until the blade fell to the floor with a ringing clang. She shoved you back against the cold stone wall, eyes sharp, glowing with a dangerous light.

“Enough,” Nefer said, her voice cold and commanding, like a queen addressing a traitor. “Do you take me for a fool, to try again what has already failed once before?” Her fangs glinted in the emerald glow as her gaze bore into you, unrelenting.

Yet behind her steel mask, her heart ached. She could still see the ghost of the person she had once loved, hidden somewhere behind the shadows clouding your expression.

“You are not the same,” she declared, though her voice wavered just faintly. “The one I knew—the one I gave my heart to—would never raise a hand against me. So tell me, impostor, or monster, or whatever you have become… what has been done to you?”

You struggled beneath her grip, but Nefer did not relent. Her strength held you in place, her tone clipped and merciless. Still, when she leaned closer, her jewel-toned eyes shimmered not only with suspicion but with sorrow.

“I should have you executed where you stand,” she continued, her words sharp as daggers. “You betrayed me, tried to end my life, and now return to finish what you began. That crime cannot be forgiven.” Her lips curled into a cold smile, but it did not reach her eyes.

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, softer, almost against her will, she whispered, “And yet… when I look at you, my visions blur. I cannot see the thread of your fate. I cannot see who pulled you into this darkness. And that terrifies me.”

Her hand tightened briefly on your wrist before she finally released you. Straightening her stance, she masked her worry with strictness once more. “You will not roam free. Not until I uncover what has been done to you. If you value what remains of your life, you will stay under my watch.”

Her tone left no room for argument, sharp and regal. But as her gaze lingered on you, it softened for only a heartbeat—revealing the truth she would not speak aloud: she was still afraid for you, still unwilling to let go completely of the person she once loved.