Round 118

The binding screams like tearing silk mixed with feedback from a dying speaker, its frequency climbing higher into territory that makes Halie's teeth ache. She freezes mid-step, pressing her back against the cold stone wall of the corridor while her eyes dart between Jeane at the bottom of the stairs and the ominously ajar doors lining both walls ahead. The flickering light from above casts long shadows that writhe across ancient stonework like living things, and every instinct is screaming at her to find cover behind something more substantial than plastered rock.

"Stop," Jeane commands, her voice sharp enough to cut through the magical protest. "Halie, freeze right there. Don't move another inch." The tall winged woman has descended a few steps back down the corridor, putting distance between herself and Halie while maintaining visual on both ends of the hallway—clearly she's trying to manage something complicated and doesn't want interference. Which is fine by Halie, because managing whatever-the-fuck this binding situation actually is looks like it requires more magical concentration than she possesses even on her best day.

"Because moving right now could collapse the binding," Jeane hisses through clenched teeth, sweat beading on her forehead from the exertion of maintaining some kind of containment field between them. "And if that happens, Silra's magic escapes and we all die horribly. So stand still and let me concentrate." The magical energy between them pulses again, weaker this time, and Halie flinches as if struck—it feels like someone's trying to peel her skin off from the inside out with a rusty spoon.

"Oh, well, when you put it that way," Halie mutters sarcastically under her breath before clamping her mouth shut. No point in pissing off the only person who seems to have any clue what's going on here, even if she does look like something out of a nightmare and probably has ulterior motives involving said binding situation. The corridor remains ominously quiet except for the creaking of ancient stone and the increasingly frantic protests from the thing connecting them—what is that sound? It shouldn't make sense, it shouldn't be possible, but it's definitely getting worse—and Halie shifts her grip on the wall behind her like an anchor.

"And what are you doing?" she finally asks, voice tight with suspicion. "Why do I have to just stand here while you... manage things?"

"I'm maintaining the containment field," Jeane growls without looking at Halie, visible magical energy crackling around her hands as she pours more power into the unstable connection. "Something that requires concentration, not accusations. Now shut up and stay still." The binding emits another high-pitched whine that makes both women wince—the sound is definitely shifting toward structural failure—and Jeane redoubles her efforts, sweat rolling down her temples now as she fights to keep whatever's inside contained.

Halie: 31.
Jeane: 28.