Round 59

The stone pulsed again, a heavy thud vibrating through the penthouse floorboards like a beast's heartbeat. Hera clutched at Jeane's arm instinctively, her knuckles white as she fought against rising panic. The entire structure groaned around them, a sound like ancient timber complaining under strain no longer tolerable. "Jeane," she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper, "what is happening? Why is everything shaking?" Jeane's expression hardened, her crimson eyes flashing with impatience and something darker—arousal, perhaps, from Silra's earlier dominance display. She placed one hand over Hera's, trying to still the trembling fingers. "The wardstone answers our presence," she explained through gritted teeth. "It wants... it needs..." Her words trailed off as another pulse hit, stronger this time, making the chandelier overhead rattle faintly. Silra approached the wardstone then, her movements quick and frantic. She began turning the artifact in her hands, muttering under her breath as she searched for some weakness or loophole. The building's groaning intensified into a low rumble that seemed to originate from deep within the walls themselves.

This is bad. Abby thought, her wide brown eyes fixed on the wardstone. Real bad. She inched closer to the wall, as far from the center of the room—and the artifact—that she could manage without actually climbing inside a closet. Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat matching the rhythm of the stone's pulses. The entire situation had gone from weird and uncomfortable to actively life-threatening in the span of about three minutes. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it except pray that Jeane knew what she was talking about when it came to controlling this thing.

Stupid magic artifacts. Stupid ancient buildings. Stupid New York City with its stupid secret societies and their stupid arcane bullshit. Abby's mind raced through possibilities, each more ridiculous than the last. Could they smash the wardstone? Probably not a great idea when it was currently holding up the entire structure. Could they run for the elevator? Also probably not, given how long it would take to descend fifty-plus floors and the distinct possibility that the building might collapse before they even reached the lobby. No, their best—and worst—option seemed to be trusting Jeane and Silra to figure this out before the whole damn place came crashing down around their ears.

The wardstone pulsed again, its surface seeming to darken slightly with each beat. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with an energy that prickled against Abby's skin like static electricity before a storm. This was it—the moment of truth. Either they found a way to satisfy whatever perverse demand this thing had cooked up, or they all became tragic news headlines about a mysterious high-rise collapse during a freak electrical storm.

Fuck my life. Abby whispered, pressing herself against the wall as if that could provide some small measure of protection. I'm going to die in a sex cult's penthouse because I was too nice to help out at work. This is absolutely not how I imagined my death happening.

Jeane watched Silra work with growing impatience, her wings twitching restlessly behind her. The building's groaning had escalated to something approaching a low growl now, each rumble vibrating through the floor and up into her bones. She knew they were running out of time—knew it in her gut long before Silra confirmed her worst fears with that sixty-second countdown. This was exactly why she'd tried to handle things differently earlier, to maintain control rather than simply giving in to Silra's demands. But now? Now they had no choice.

"Hera," Jeane said, her voice low and urgent, "I know you're scared. I am too. But we have maybe a minute before this whole building comes down around us." She gestured sharply at the wardstone, where Silra continued her frantic examination. "That thing wants something from us—needs it, apparently—and it's not going to let up until we give it what it wants." Her crimson eyes locked onto Hera's amber ones, intense and unyielding. "I don't care if you have to fuck a statue or dance naked on the table or whatever the hell else this thing comes up with—I swear to every demon in the underworld that I will not let you die here tonight."