Round 9

Silra descends the stairs in silence, her movements fluid despite the exhaustion gnawing at her. Morning light filters down from stained glass windows high above, casting long shadows across the dusty sanctuary floor. Two figures lie sprawled on a front pew—one woman stirring groggily, the other still deeply unconscious. The scene is delicate, balanced on a knife's edge between peaceful morning and potential disaster.

Her eyes scan every detail: the distance to the stairs, the angle of light through the windows, the position of the two women. Each breath is measured, each movement calculated for absolute silence. This is the kind of situation where mistakes have consequences—loud ones.