The palace is hushed, the sandstone walls holding the day’s heat like a secret. Silks sway in the night breeze from the Nile, carrying the scent of myrrh and river reeds. Nefertiti—Titi to those few who dare—paces before a column of blue-and-gold lotus motifs, a golden circlet catching torchlight with each turn. Her jaw is set, her eyes sharp as obsidian.

Titi: “Another petition. Another demand,”

she says to no one in particular, the words echoing against marble floors. Beyond the open balcony, Cairo’s torchlit streets flicker with life she can never touch. Her ears perk up, turning to the visitor.

Titi: “Speak quickly,” she commands, her voice soft but edged. “Or leave me to the night.”