Round 2 Transcript

The tension in The ash-choked road outside the ruined city of Gravehill tightens for a beat as the interruption refuses to go away. Everyone is forced to stay quiet and choose their next move carefully.

The terrified man backs away again, shaking his head frantically now. "No—no, I don't know anything." His voice cracks. Behind him, in the house window, a face appears briefly—a woman's silhouette retreating back into shadow when she sees us looking. I catch Jeane's eye and raise an eyebrow slightly. That wasn't just fear. That was performance. The man is lying badly—either he genuinely doesn't want to talk or someone else in that house does not want him talking, and the latter interests me more than empty denials from a coward. The rain beats down harder as I consider my options. Sister Hale is praying loudly now, which won't help our situation—religious types always think volume matters more than content when it comes to supplication. Jeane's trying to intimidate with her symbol and smooth words, but we're in the open on a road lined with graves of people who probably had their own smooth words before something ended them. I step forward casually, as if just joining the conversation, and my boot presses down hard on a loose flagstone near the edge of the road. It shifts with a grating sound—the same kind of stone that moved earlier under the street. The man jumps visibly at the noise, his eyes darting to the ground. "You have a problem with shifting stones here," I say casually to him, scanning the shadows between the houses as I speak. "That's not normal for city construction." My hand rests near my dagger hilt but doesn't move toward it—non-threatening body language while asking pointed questions. "What causes that? Earthquakes?" I'm not expecting an answer from him—I'm watching his reaction and the woman in the window who might be listening. The rain is getting heavier, which means visibility will get worse soon. We need shelter either way, but I don't trust a house where someone's trying to orchestrate the conversation through a man clearly terrified of us and whatever else lurks here. The church looks like it has multiple entrances—one might be better than another if there are traps or something worse inside. I glance at Jeane and Sister Hale without turning my head much—they'll know I'm suggesting we reconsider this house approach unless the man offers concrete reason not to. My expression stays neutral, but I raise one eyebrow slightly higher than before—a micro-signal that means "We need more information or a better location."

The man is stammering something about "old construction" now while his eyes keep flicking between us and the ground. He's lying so badly it's almost funny if the stakes weren't potentially immediate death from whatever's under this city. I'm already mentally mapping exit routes through the graveyard—if there are old city traps or tunnels down there, knowing which way leads to solid ground matters more than his denials do. My gut says the church is less dangerous than this house right now. The open ruins give us options, while a closed building with multiple occupants we can't see gives them all the tactical advantage if they decide to act. But that's just my default suspicion talking—the evidence here is thin and mostly suggests cowardice rather than malice. I'm ready to move toward the church unless someone points out a compelling reason not to, or unless Jeane's intimidation actually works on the woman in the window instead of just making her hide better.