Round 22

Silence stretched thin in the basement, broken only by the distant sound of movement upstairs. A small mirror hung askew near the ceiling, catching morning light and flickering it across the stone floor like warning signals.

Silra paused halfway up the stairs, one hand on the banister, her pointed ears twitching with every creak from above. The mirror... she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She slid back down, moving to the wall near the base—visible enough to see but hidden from immediate view of the sanctuary.

Jeane stood at the bottom, her nude form still glistening faintly with sweat and other fluids. Her crimson eyes were fixed on the darkness above, calculating distances and risks.