Round 4

As Silra pressed her ear against the cold stone wall, a low hum vibrated through the air, like the distant thrumming of a harp string. The wind and ash swirled around her, but she detected something heavier, a movement too deliberate to be mere rodents. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she turned to Jeane and Sister Hale, her gaze lingering on each face before focusing on the church doors ahead.

Sister Hale stepped between Jeane and the doors, her hand raised in warning, steel etched into her voice despite the weariness that clung to every word like ash. Her eyes scanned the stonework, searching for signs of recent work: repaired cracks, fresh mortar, or any hint of a trap or guard posted inside. The rusted key from the dead magistrate's corpse hung suspended in her hand, its significance uncertain.

Jeane stepped forward through the ash, her robes swirling with an aristocratic grace despite the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. Her eyes scanned the church facade, searching for signs of recent passage: footprints, disturbed cobwebs, or fresh gouges in the stone. "You two are being too cautious," she said, her voice carrying that sharp edge Jeane had learned to recognize. The wind died down, and an expectant hush fell over the group as they stood poised on the threshold of the ruined church.