Round 152

Silra's fingers moved across the pump controls with practiced efficiency, setting the timer for the impending overload. The massive hydraulic system behind them began to whine louder, its mechanical heart racing towards its inevitable failure. She turned back to Jeane, her expression unreadable in the dim maintenance room lighting.

"You give me five minutes' warning before it triggers," Silra said, her voice steady despite the growing urgency outside. "I'll hotwire the system to create a diversion." The offer hung in the air between them, a calculated risk against the clock that was rapidly running out.

The countdown timer on the wall read 45 seconds, and the sound of approaching security grew louder still. Silra's fingers flew across the pump controls, setting the timer for exactly five minutes before the entire system would fail catastrophically.

"I step back from the pump controls—giving Jeane space while still maintaining visual on both her and our escape route—and let out a slow breath that's half frustration, half grudging respect for how she negotiated terms under pressure instead of just demanding immediate cooperation like I expected after what happened earlier," Silra thought to herself. She wanted explanations? Fine. Time to clear the air even if it wasted twenty seconds they didn't have to spare.

"My medical scans," she said clinically, keeping her tone professional despite the lingering discomfort. "Core temperature stable at 37°C. Hypothermia aftereffects are minimal—coordination is already improving." She left unsaid the part about how much more efficient Jeane's magic could have been if she'd maintained proper contact instead of pulling away the moment the immediate crisis passed.

The hydraulic system whined louder, and a loud crack echoed from somewhere outside the room. They were running out of time to execute their plan—and Silra knew that every second counted.