Round 9

Silra guides Julia into a dimly lit antechamber, closing the heavy door behind them with a soft thud. The space is cramped, stone walls ancient and worn, a single high window letting in slivers of cold moonlight. She positions herself casually against one wall, arms crossed, teal eyes gleaming with barely contained anxiety as she studies the woman before her.

"Alright," Silra begins, voice low and measured, "you caught us at... an interesting moment. But you need to understand something—what we do here isn't for public consumption." She gestures vaguely toward the main chamber beyond. "It's private ritual work, deeply personal stuff that gets messy if outsiders start asking questions."

Jeane watches from the shadows of the main chamber, her crimson eyes fixed on Silra and Julia. She makes no move to join them—let the elf handle this particular fire she helped kindle. The sorceress's mind races through contingency plans: how to neutralize this witness quietly, how to secure their unconscious party members before they wake with questions of their own.

In the main chamber, Halie remains frozen by the altar, her face pale and eyes wide with panic. She offers no assistance when Jeane gestures toward the hidden curtained area—clearly useless in a genuine crisis.