Round 178

The heat in the room wasn’t just metaphorical anymore. It was physical, oppressive, making the air shimmer like a desert mirage in reverse. Jeane’s grip on Silra’s arm remained iron-clad, her eyes flickering with that unnatural light that made the engineer’s teal ones widen fractionally despite her best efforts to remain composed.

“This isn’t negotiation,” the succubus hissed, each word seeming to vibrate the very molecules in the air. “The contract is binding. Every second wasted increases the penalty.” Her voice was silk over steel, promise and threat intertwined.

Behind them, Hera stepped forward, her voice cutting through the growing tension like a knife through butter. “Jeane, we all signed up for this. But Silra needs to work, and you’re not helping.” The older woman’s tone was firm but not confrontational—she’d seen enough of what happened when Jeane lost control to know exactly which lines not to cross.

Silra set the welder down carefully, stepping back as it sputtered and spat sparks. “Fuck—fuck—I need more time!” she gasped, sweat already beading on her forehead from the rising heat. The floorboards groaned beneath them, a sound that had nothing to do with the building’s age and everything to do with the structure straining against its own nature.

The temperature spiked again, climbing past uncomfortable into dangerous territory. Jeane’s eyes flashed brighter, and for a moment, Silra’s carefully maintained cool facade cracked completely. She met Hera’s gaze evenly despite the sweat glistening on her skin, but there was a flicker of something desperate in those teal eyes—a silent plea for intervention before the situation spiraled further out of control.

“If you want me to—” she began, then stopped abruptly, swallowing hard as another wave of heat washed over them. The building’s demand thrummed through the floor like a second heartbeat, and forty minutes remained on the clock. Time was running out faster than the cooling fluid in Silra’s welder.