Round 3 Transcript

Jeane Cromwell drew herself up to her full height, chin tilted just so, eyes cold as chips of obsidian fixed on Gravedigger Renn's cowering form. "Your fear is an insult," she said, voice cutting through the storm's rumble. "We came here for a purpose, and you waste our time with trembles."

She produced the rusted iron key from her pocket—a thing heavy with implication—and held it up where all could see. The metal caught what little light remained, glinting darkly. "This opens doors, Renn. Doorbetween which you claim to know." Her smile was a predator's bared teeth. "So walk ahead and earn your coin, or step aside and we'll find another guide who doesn't shit himself at shadows."

She glanced sideways at Silra—watching the elf circle their terrified asset like a wolf scenting weakness—and felt a flicker of something almost like respect for that predatory efficiency. Then her gaze found Sister Hale, standing apart with that infuriatingly neutral expression, and Jeane's jaw tightened. This was no time for hesitance or moral posturing. Power waited within those ruined walls—she could taste it—and she'd be damned if she let Gravedigger Renn's cowardice or Silra's suspicion or Sister Hale's judgment cost them a single moment of advantage.

Silra's eyes narrowed as she watched Gravedigger Renn shrink into himself under Jeane's withering gaze. She'd seen men break before—seen fear do more damage than any blade—but there was something specific in this old man's terror that pricked at her caution. He wasn't just afraid of ghosts or shadows; he was terrified of something real. That kind of fear had teeth. "You're not just shaking because you're superstitious, are you?" Silra said, circling him again like a predator stalking wounded prey. Her hand rested casually on the dagger at her belt, ready but relaxed—a calculated display of nonchalance that broadcasted lethal capability nonetheless. "Because if there's something actually here we should know about before your sorceress friend gets us all killed trying to play architect?"

Her gaze flicked toward Jeane—an acknowledgment rather than a challenge—and then back to Renn. She crouched down beside him, close enough for her voice to be heard over the storm but angled so she could see both him and the street behind them. "Talk plainly now. What's got you spooked bad enough that you'd risk our ire just to run?"