Round 144

The sound of water dripping echoed through the concrete tunnel like a metronome counting down their remaining time. Jeane huddled closer to Silra, trying to share what little warmth remained between them without actually touching—their agreement about personal space still holding despite the desperate circumstances. The elf barely seemed to notice her proximity, her attention focused entirely on scanning the darkness ahead for any sign of pursuit or further danger.

"You're shivering," Silra observed clinically, more statement than concern. "Hypothermia sets in fast in conditions like this." She pulled out a small emergency blanket from her pack, unfolding it with practiced efficiency. "Hold still," she instructed, wrapping the thin silver material around Jeane's shoulders and wings. The contact was minimal but enough to make the succubus sigh with relief.

"Better?" Silra asked, already stepping back to maintain distance. Jeane nodded gratefully, though her eyes were still cold. "Much. Thank you." The words came out stiffly, a clear reminder of the tension between them despite their shared predicament. Silra ignored it, turning her attention back to the tunnel ahead. "We need to find shelter soon," she said, her voice practical and detached. "Somewhere dry and secure where we can regroup and plan our next move."