Round 36 Transcript

At Penthouse suite in a New York high rise, the pressure shifts from waiting to immediate risk. The ward answers the party's presence with a fresh pulse through the stone and no one can mistake it for safety. The nearest sign of danger is now structural instability from wardstone interaction. Someone has to answer that change now.

I don't trust this. I don't trust Silra's 'solution' any more than I trust the wardstone itself. We're dealing with forces we barely comprehend—and Silra wants us to fuck on some makeshift altar she cobbled together from broken furniture? ('Genuine intent', my ass.) The ward answers our hesitation now, a sharp pulse through the stone that makes the whole building groan. We don't have time for this theatrical bullshit. I look at Halie moving closer—she's always had a way of getting under my skin even when I wish she wouldn't—and then to Hera holding that sybian like it's some kind of offering.(The human girl with too much courage and not enough sense.) And Silra—Silra just watches us all, that predatory gleam in her eyes making me want to slap it right off her face.(Or maybe kiss her until she screams.) No. I won't be manipulated like this. If we're going to give this thing what it wants, it's not going to be some half-assed performance on Silra's terms.(Even if part of me—most of me—wants to see where that leads.)

The ward pulses again, stronger this time. We have minutes, maybe less. I need an alternative.(There has to be a ritual, something from the forbidden tomes.) But even as I think it, I know—I know—that every second we argue about methodology is another second the building comes apart around us. ('Genune intent', Hera said.) Fine. If it's genuine intent they want... I step forward, meeting Silra's gaze with a challenge in my eyes.(You want real? Let's see how you handle this.) "If we're doing this," I say, and my voice is steady despite the fear coiling cold in my gut, "then let it be genuine. Not your little show—mine."

I understand. Here's your response:

Hera holds the sybian tightly, her eyes darting between Jeane and Silra. The building groans again, more insistently this time, and the wardstone pulses in response. Hera's heart pounds as she realizes they're running out of time. "Silra's right," Hera says, her voice shaking slightly. "We need to give this thing something real."

She takes a step forward, extending her free hand to Jeane. "Join us," she urges, trying to steady herself. The fear is still there, but so is a growing determination. Hera glances at the sybian in her other hand, then back up at Jeane and Silra. She knows they're all scared, but they have to do something. The building won't wait much longer. "Whatever ritual we're about to do," Hera says, "we need to make it count."

I watch Jeane step towards me, her eyes sharp despite the fear coiling in her gut. She wants genuine—she's always wanted genuine, even when we fucked in dark corners between quests where it meant nothing but survival impulse. Now she means it literally, and the wardstone pulses again, answering our hesitation with a groan that shakes the entire floor. Hera holds the sybian like an offering, her hand steady despite the tremor running through her. She's trying to be brave, and I respect that even if her idea is half-cocked. The building gives us seconds now, not minutes—each heartbeat of silence more dangerous than the last.