Round 170

Silra worked the spanner with deliberate precision, each turn of the screw a measured counterpoint to the building's escalating demands. The psychic pressure had indeed grown teeth—sharp, insistent things that gnawed at the edges of her concentration. She could feel them now, specific and unmistakable: the structure wanted more than mere compliance; it craved participation.

Hera's attempt at support was appreciated, but the situation demanded practical solutions, not emotional reassurance. Halie's intervention between herself and Jeane was... interesting. The cleric meant well, no doubt, but this wasn't a conflict that could be mediated away. The building's hunger pulsed through the very walls, a rhythm of need that grew more insistent with each passing moment.

"Forty minutes," Silra announced to the room at large, her voice cutting through the tension like steel through wood. "That was our estimate. I suggest we focus on making it real instead of... discussing alternatives." The spanner bit deep into the screw head, turning it home with a satisfying click. One more joint reinforced against the structure's appetites.