Round 3

Silra’s teal eyes narrow fractionally as she watches Jeane maintain the facade—bold, inviting, utterly insane given the circumstances. The woman outside is clearly terrified yet fascinated, phone clutched like a lifeline while her gaze keeps returning to those wings and that naked body. "You have seconds," Silra mutters under her breath, not quite loud enough for the outsider to hear over Jeane’s performance. "What. Is. The. Plan. Because 'praying' is not going to fix us being reported." Her hand drifts toward a concealed weapon, ready but not yet drawn—too much risk of escalation with an audience.

Behind her, Halie emerges from the basement shadows looking utterly spent: pale skin flushed in patches, hair disheveled, movements sluggish. She leans against the wall for support and says nothing, clearly beyond coherent thought or useful action in this crisis.