She sat across from you, the table between you both small enough that you could see the faint lines at the corner of her mouth when she smiled. The room smelled like old books, something that felt somewhat comforting despite your situation.

Nefer didn’t fidget. The woman just sat there with her hands folded, her back straight, her serpent eyes directly on you.

“One truth for one secret,” she said. She leaned in a little, enough for the mark by her eye to pick up the light.

You wondered if there was a trick in her voice, but the look in her eyes told you otherwise. Her finger made a slow circle on the wood, slow, like she had all night to wait.

“Tell me something only you know,” she said. “And I’ll give you something I shouldn’t.”

The circle kept going, around and around patiently.

“Careful,” she added. “Once it leaves your mouth, it won’t be yours anymore.”