Round 128

The building’s demands were a physical ache, vibrating through the steel framework with insistent hunger. Jeane leaned against the wall, her wings folded tight—not out of submission, but containment. Every instinct screamed to take what she wanted, consequences be damned. “You’re wasting time,” she growled, her voice barely human, eyes never leaving Silra’s face as the elf worked with methodical precision that grated on her nerves. Halie positioned herself between them, a futile gesture Jeane dismissed entirely—the human woman meant well but was utterly useless when it came to handling someone like her.

Silra straightened up slowly, turning to face Jeane with an expression that managed to be both exasperated and mildly concerned. “I’m not pretending anything,” she said evenly. “But forcing the issue won’t make this job go any faster.” She set down the welder carefully, then met Halie’s gaze with a nod of respect for the cleric’s intervention. “Forty minutes,” Silra admitted. “Maybe less if I push harder, but that means higher risk of structural failure.”

Jeane’s laugh was harsh and devoid of humor. “You think I give a fuck about structural failure right now?” she hissed, taking a step forward that made Halie flinch despite herself.

Silra didn’t back away, but her hand did move instinctively toward the tool belt at her hip—a gesture that stopped halfway as she caught herself. “I’m not asking you to care,” she replied, voice still steady despite the heat in Jeane’s words. “I’m telling you what the parameters are. You want this building satisfied? Then let me do my job properly.”

The penthouse air seemed to shimmer with tension as the two women faced each other across the space Halie occupied—an impromptu barrier that felt increasingly inadequate.