Round 118

The wardstone pulsed again, its rhythm accelerating like a heart rate climbing toward panic. The stone around it groaned in sympathetic resonance—the building was failing faster than any of them had anticipated. Jeane pulled her hands back instinctively, stepping away from the door frame as if burned. "We need to move," she said sharply, her voice tight with barely controlled fear and something else—an undercurrent of demonic energy that seemed to respond to the wardstone's call. "The next pulse could bring this whole corridor down."