Round 169

The grinding plates shift rhythm, 2 seconds closer to crushing everyone between them. Jeane's wings beat frantically against the gravitational pull downstairs—she manages a floating platform just in time, rising above the pressure traps while maintaining distance from Halie's position in the crevice. The walls upstairs stop their synchronized breathing completely, and the low pulsing hum grows stronger like a heartbeat. The air is charged with ambient magic that feels wrong, vibrating at a frequency designed to make your teeth ache.