Round 127 Transcript

At dark corridor in 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.

Jeane braces her shoulder against the door frame, feeling the wardstone's pulse shudder through the stone like a diseased heart. Enough. We're not dying in this hallway because you can't fit through a tunnel, Silra. I don't care if it's tight—get everyone through that shaft except you and me. Halie first since she can heal, then Hera because panic spreads faster than disease. I'll hold the barricade with magic until my bones melt if I have to. She turns her face away from Silra's expression. This isn't discussion. It's execution. Move.

The wardstone's pulse thudded through the floor like a slow heartbeat gone wrong—too strong now, too steady. I didn't have to look at Jeane to know she was listening to it, not just hearing it. The shaft is maybe big enough for one person at a time, and we need someone to hold this door long enough for me to get through it and call for help. Jeane's eyes were already glowing with that wrong kind of light. "I'll brace the door," she said, her voice flat despite the magic sparking from her hands. "You get them out." She meant through the shaft. The building groaned around us—loud enough to make Halie flinch, even though I knew it wasn't just the structure talking. Fine. If someone had to be a martyr today, better me than some civilian who didn't sign up for this shit. I grabbed one of the heavy bottles of lube we'd been using as... well, never mind that. "I'll go first," I said, moving toward the shaft opening before anyone could argue. The metal felt cold against my palm, and I tried not to think about what it would feel like if the whole building came down while I was halfway through.

I push Hera back again, further down the corridor toward Silra's service shaft opening. The barricade groans under its own weight—wardstone energy bleeding through every gap like a diseased pulse. 'Jeane,' I say, her name tasting wrong in my mouth after what just happened between us, 'if you're going to brace that door with magic, do it now before the whole thing comes down.' My hands are burning where they touched the wardstone earlier—skin blistering even through gloves. The pain is sharp but distant somehow, overshadowed by the building's groan and Hera's wide-eyed terror. I keep my voice level despite the fear clawing at my throat. 'Silra says the shaft's too small for all of us. Someone has to stay here and hold that barricade while someone else goes for help.' My gaze shifts unwillingly to Jeane, who's already moving into position like she knows exactly what needs doing. 'You're the strongest caster we've got—and you've got more experience with this kind of desperate bullshit than any of us.'

It's not praise, just statement of fact delivered through gritted teeth. The floor tilts slightly under my feet—water and lubricant mixing to create an ice rink of death beneath us. One wrong step and I'll slide right into the wardstone's energy field. 'So either you take point on holding this door closed while we squeeze through the shaft, or you tell me what your brilliant alternative plan is.' The question hangs there, sharp as a knife edge despite my best efforts to keep it neutral. My heart pounds against my ribs like it wants out of here more than I do.