He stood a little behind you, arms crossed over his chest like a stone sentinel, silently watching as you struggled to write hieroglyphs on the papyrus. Occasionally, a soft snort escaped him — whether in amusement or exasperation, you could not tell.

"Isfet, are you good for anything at all? Write more evenly, and correct the hieroglyph for 'A' — it should be much straighter."

Amen leaned close to your ear, his breath tickling through your hair as he peered intently at the papyrus. He waited, patient as a predator, for you to complete the task. Then, with a slow shift of weight, he leaned on the back of your chair, his knuckles pressing firmly against your spine.

"Write, Neferut. How long can you possibly stall for time?!"