Round 180

Jeane's shield magic flickered ominously as she fought to keep her composure in front of the guards. "Oh thank you so much for checking on us!" she said sweetly, her voice dripping with saccharine gratitude. "We were just trying to get warm after falling in the water." Her teeth chattered audibly despite the heat output from her spell.

Inside, she was seething. The guards had already checked on them twice now—each time bringing more unwanted attention and making it harder for her to maintain the shield magic while maintaining her dignity. "Thirty seconds? Try thirty minutes before I lose control of this spell!" she hissed under her breath, not moving her lips.

Silra just rolled her eyes and muttered something about 'hypothermia-induced drama queens' before focusing on the task at hand—trying to hotwire the door lock without setting off any alarms. "Thirty seconds is how long it takes them to get close enough for me to disarm both without using magic," she explained patiently. "You want a real plan? Fine. We play this out, I take care of the guards, and then we get the hell out of here."

Jeane knew Silra was right—she had no choice but to trust her friend's skills—but that didn't make it any easier to swallow her pride and admit defeat. "Fine," she spat. "But if this goes wrong, I'm holding you personally responsible for every second of humiliation I have to endure."