There was no scream. Just the clean sound of air parting and flesh separating.
Her head rolled to the side, eyes still wide, lips parted mid-word. Blood pooled outward, joining the growing river at Alex's feet.
He exhaled once. Quiet. Then turned to the others—who now realized their silence would not save them.
Alex stood amidst the silence that followed Neferura's execution, blood trickling from the edge of his katana like crimson tears. The scent of iron hung thick in the air, mixing with the wails and gasps of those still alive. Slowly, his gaze swept across the broken remnants of Khepri's family, as if mentally listing who would follow next.
Then his eyes landed on Menkara.
The youngest son froze.
A flicker of hope died instantly as Alex began walking toward him. His breathing quickened. His feet instinctively shuffled backward, scraping along the floor, betraying his fear. His back hit a broken pillar, and he had nowhere to retreat.
