Round 83

The air in the penthouse suite thickened with tension and crackling energy, the kind that had nothing to do with the city's electricity grid outside. Hera stood frozen mid-step, her eyes wide on the barrier of Jeane's outstretched wings—a living wall of electricity and heat that pulsed with dangerous beauty. The feathers themselves seemed to conduct the current, sparks dancing along their edges like trapped fireflies.

Jeane's voice cut through the crackling, calm but firm: "Stop this foolishness, Hera." She extended her wings wider, the gesture both a warning and a display of power. The air shimmered around her, charged and alive. "You cannot pass through here—not with these wings out." Her crimson eyes fixed on Hera, unblinking and intense.

Silra moved quickly, stepping between Hera and the barrier. "Enough," she said sharply. "You're not thinking clearly." Her teal gaze darted from Hera's panicked face to Jeane's impassive one, then back again. The electrical sound coming from the wings seemed unstable now—faster, more intense. A genuine concern flickered across her features. "That tunnel is compromised, and Abby's fine. We'll find another way."

Jeane's wings flared wider in response, a deliberate display that made Hera flinch backward. Her expression was unreadable—anger? hunger? both? The flickering lights from the broken chandelier cast shifting shadows across her face, making it difficult to tell. The tunnel walls seemed to close in slightly, the entire room suddenly too small for such a powerful being.

In the corner, Abby stood paralyzed by terror and morbid curiosity, her wide brown eyes fixed on Jeane. The truth of what she was had settled like ice water in the civil servant's veins—this wasn't some elaborate costume or trick. Those wings were real, and they were after her. She needed to get out. Needed help. But who could she trust? Silra seemed the only option right now, but even the slim elf woman looked uneasy facing down Jeane's display of power.

The air crackled again, louder this time, and a small explosion of sparks erupted from one wing tip. Someone cursed—Hera or Silra, it was hard to tell over the sudden roar of electricity. The situation was spiraling out of control fast, and no amount of wishful thinking could change that fact.