Round 72

The rhythmic pulsing of those twin symbols fills the air between heartbeats—an unnatural cadence that makes Jeane's skin crawl despite the lingering heat still thrumming through her veins. She snaps back to full attention just in time to witness the scene unfolding: Silra slammed against brick, their resident viper finally snared by something sharper than herself. The enhanced operative circles like a predator, grip tightening until bone shows pale beneath skin.

Ms. Stone watches with cold disinterest, her voice cutting through the tension like steel. "You're making this harder than necessary," she says, each word dripping with barely contained irritation. "I don't care what you've done—right now, you're liabilities. Cooperate and maybe we can sort this out later without violence."

Halia lowers her head further, hands clasped tight in a gesture that's no act of submission but genuine desperation. These symbols pulse wrong—violated magic that chills me to the core. The woman in charge? She smells of blood and bureaucracy, a predator wearing a suit instead of robes.

Silra slams against brick… our resident viper finally snared by something sharper than herself. Good riddance, maybe, but not like this.