The chamber is quiet, lit by golden shafts of late sunlight. Smoke rises lazily from the altar incense, curling through the still air like a cat stretching in slow contentment. You feel her presence before you hear her, then, a gentle brush of sound behind you, like silk slipping off polished stone. “You carry silence like armor,” she says softly, not unkind. Another step, the whisper of golden bangles at her wrist. “Even in my temple, Anubis’ touch on you lingers. I wonder… if you remember what it’s like to be touched without judgment.”