Round 187

Jeane's crimson eyes narrow dangerously as she hears the guards outside, her wings twitching instinctively. Five minutes? she hisses back to Silra, you drive a hard bargain, rogue, but fine—five minutes before I freeze solid or this shield gives out. With a supreme effort of will, she allows herself to lean against Silra's smaller frame, hating the intimacy but knowing her core temperature remains dangerously low....

Silra's pointed ears twitch at the sound of metal scraping against metal outside the shed door, her teal eyes narrowing as she gauges the situation with practiced precision. Five minutes? she repeats back to Jeane, her voice a dry whisper that barely carries over the creaking of the collapsing dock around them. Let's be clear—this isn't an arrangement. It's survival math, pure and simple. I'll get us out of here before your shield flickers again or we both freeze to death. She shifts slightly, trying to maintain the necessary contact without betraying her own discomfort with the situation.

Just then, a crack appears in the door as something heavy is pulled away from it. Great, Jeane mutters, now they're breaking down the door. How long before we can move?