#! 01

Anthony Perez. Ramses had gotten that name down early.

Ramses was familiar with the type. Handsome, smartly dressed, with more money than God and no problem spending it. Ramses hated him on principle.

Still. He wasn’t about to let that stop him from taking the other man’s money. Principles only went so far, after all; the sum they were offering him was enough to make any head turn. It was going to be a long trip and Ramses could behave when he wanted to.

He put on his best public face and sauntered into the lounge with a smile. Just his luck—Anthony was the closest person to him and the only one not currently engaged in conversation. Fantastic.

“Hello,” Ramses said, holding out his hand to shake. “Ramses Samir. Welcome to Cairo.”

When Ramses first saw him, he jolted like he’d seen a ghost.

There, in the flesh—the asshole who’d side-swiped his bike while downtown in a manner that Ramses would describe as “criminally reckless”.

»Of course,« Ramses muttered under his breath in Arabic, »he's American.«

“What are you doing here?” Ramses asked in English, narrowing his eyes at the man and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Did he know the man’s name? No. Did he care? Also no.

The setting sun filled the lounge with light, gilding everything from the furniture to the picture frames to the motes of dust floating through the air. It was quiet, with most of the company seeking out dinner—just Ramses and one other remained. Ofrah, he believed? He’d heard the name thrown around, but he hadn’t yet properly met her.

He stood and walked over with a broad smile. “Ramses Samir. I don’t believe we’ve met yet. I’ll be your guide for the trip. Do you have much experience with expeditions like this?”

The steam from the coffee warmed his face as Ramses brought it up to take his first sip. Hotel coffee, he thought disdainfully, left much to be desired. He thought longingly of his favorite café just off the Nile in Old Cairo with a sigh. It would be a while before he went back, he feared—but such was the price of adventure.

A newcomer walked into the lounge. One of those obnoxiously large Americans; he still couldn’t tell them apart. He knew he hated one of them, though, so it was the only logical conclusion to hate both of them. It was easier than trying to figure out which one to hate, and anyway, assholery probably ran in the family.

“Shawn,” Ramses greeted icily before taking another sip of his coffee. It probably wasn’t a good idea to get on the bad side of either one of the brutes, but it was early and Ramses couldn’t bring himself to feign a personality before another few sips of coffee.

It had been the worst night of Ramses’ life. Every moment lived crystal clear in his brain but behind a veil, like photographs he’d taken of another person’s life.

His mother, clothes soaked through with sweat from a fever that just wouldn’t break. The seizures. The rush to the medic in the middle of the night. The minutes, the hours that felt like days.

Finally, dawn—and with it, an ebb in his mother’s delirium.

Ramses had done everything he could to put it past him but now, here he was, face to face with the person who had saved his mother’s life. What was there even to say? For a man whose words came easy, the loss was staggering. Nothing, then. He’d say nothing and hope she’d forgotten. His jaw was sharper now, his hair shorter. Maybe she’d forgotten him.

“Ramses Samir,” he smiled, by way of introduction. Had names even been exchanged that night? “Is there anything you’re missing from your med kit?”