Round 21

Morning light streamed through stained glass, painting dust motes gold and crimson across the abandoned church basement. Two women lay sprawled across a front pew upstairs—their skin catching the shifting colors, bodies tangled in post-coital sleep. Jeane descended slowly, every muscle screaming after hours of relentless activity. The sanctuary felt suddenly too small, too exposed. Silra stood at the base of the stairs with a blade glinting, already reaching for it—a brutal solution that made Jeane's skin crawl despite lingering arousal from last night.

Five minutes, Silra hissed, sheathing her weapon with obvious reluctance. Her teal eyes remained fixed on the stairs—every second counts now. If those upstairs wake fully or make noise... The elf moved to the wall near the stairs, positioning herself for visibility without immediate exposure. Jeane nodded once, moving toward the makeshift altar where their tools and supplies lay scattered.*