Shantali Mae Cross had been working security at the Metropolitan Museum of Ancient Arts for eight months when her life fractured along lines she never saw coming. It was a Tuesday night in October, 2:47 AM according to the timestamp on her incident report—though she would never file that report.The emergency lighting in the Egyptian wing had been flickering for weeks, casting strange shadows that danced across the sarcophagus displays. As she rounded the corner near the Ptolemaic collection, she noticed what appeared to be smoke drifting from the direction of the cobra-headed canopic jars.Fire protocol demanded immediate action, but as she approached, her flashlight beam revealed no flames, no heat, no acrid smell of burning artifacts. Instead, the smoke carried the scent of jasmine and aged parchment, swirling with impossible precision into the form of a cobra, hood spread, regarding her with eyes like glowing embers.In that moment, Shantali saw her future unfold in the serpent's
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