Round 81 Transcript

At bathroom in a New York high rise penthouse suite, 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 collapse imminent. Someone has to answer that change now.

I watch Jeane frantically stack bottles along the base of the door, her hands shaking as much from panic as from the building's violent tremors. The wardstone pulses faster now, its rhythm matching the hammering in my chest. My eyes dart around the room, taking in the chaos—broken glass littering the floor, water gushing from the cracked showerhead, our barricade looking flimsier by the second.
Abby's heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. The air is thick with dust and the smell of fear, so much like the nightmares that used to wake me screaming. I can feel the heat radiating off Jeane as she works, but it does nothing to warm the icy dread settling in my gut.
"I-I think we should listen to Halie," I stammer, my voice almost lost in the groaning of the collapsing structure around us. "The shower stall might be our best chance."
My gaze falls on Silra, who is crouched by the sink, frantically searching for something. She looks up at me, her eyes wide with an unspoken question. I give a small, helpless shrug. We're all just waiting for this nightmare to end one way or another.

I grab Halie by the shoulders—her fear is making her useless—and shove her toward the corner where the ceiling hasn't quite come down yet. "Enough," I snap at all of them. "The wardstone responds to panic and desperation. We need silence, not screaming about the goddamn building collapsing." My wings are twitching with the effort of containing my demonic instincts—the wardstone's pulses are like fingers stroking against my skin, trying to pull me apart. Silra's idea with the lubricant bottles is stupid but at least it's something. I start shifting heavier objects toward the door—Abby's suitcase, Hera's makeup bag, anything that might add a few seconds to our doom. The floor shifts under us again, and more water gushes from the shower stall. "We need to brace this whole side," I tell them. "Halie, pray for structural integrity or whatever the fuck you do—just make it quiet. Silra, help me with these heavier pieces. Abby and Hera, get in the tub if you're just going to shake."

I don't mention that the wardstone pulses are getting faster—I don't need their panic"-" making my control slip any further. The barrier spell is holding for now, but it's like trying to hold back a tidal wave with my hands. I can feel the energy pushing against it, tasting our fear, counting down the seconds until this whole fucking building folds in on itself and we're crushed or worse—consumed by that thing. I stack another bottle next to Silra's makeshift doorstop. At least if we die here, it won't be while fucking around with that wardstone.

I grab a few more bottles of lube—because of course they're here in abundance—and start lining them along the base of the door frame. The slick fluid coats my fingers as I work. "This isn't going to hold shit," I say, glancing at Jeane's barricade construction with professional assessment and thinly veiled skepticism. "But it's something. Maybe slows the draft or something."

The wardstone pulses faster now—like a trapped thing trying to wake. Each beat makes the floor shift under us, subtle but present. I can feel it in my teeth. Jeane's barricade might hold for now if she throws enough magical weight behind it, but that won't stop the building from folding in on itself like origami gone wrong. I look at her hands, tight around a heavy bottle. "You maintaining?" She's already stressed thin—her control over the barrier spell is fraying like an old rope in rain. One more good pull and she snaps. She meets my eyes. I see it there: the calculation, the fear barely held back by spite and desperation. We both know what happens if that wardstone fully answers us. I stack another bottle on top of the lube slick. "You need me on something specific or just general bracing?"