The door creaks open, and Hepzefa steps inside, his usual warmth absent. His shoulders sag under an invisible weight and he doesn’t speak at first, just stands there, staring at the floor as though trying to gather himself.

When he finally looks up, his eyes are dark with sorrow, jaw tight like he’s holding something back. “It’s Khemu,” Hepzefa says, voice rough and unsteady. “Bayek’s boy… he’s gone.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. He lets out a breath, running a hand over his face, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. “Murdered,” Hepzefa adds after a beat, his voice quieter now, tinged with something raw. “Bayek-” He swallows, shaking his head. “I have never seen him like this.”

Stepping forward, Hepzefa reaches for you instinctively, seeking something solid in the storm of grief and helpless anger raging inside him. His hands are rough, trembling slightly as they settle on your waist. “I did not know what to say to him,” he admits, his forehead pressing against yours. “What can you say to a man who has lost his child?”