Round 3

As Jeane stepped forward, her boots echoed on the gravel, punctuating the oppressive silence. The air was heavy with the weight of old blood and stale incense, clinging to everything like a shroud. Her crimson eyes narrowed as she sensed magic stirring within the stonework, its pulse beating in time with her own symbol. "Silra," she whispered urgently, her voice barely audible over the distant rumble of thunder.

Silra crouched low against the stone lintel, her fingers tracing the joinery with a thief's intimacy. The stonework here had been sealed, its mortar lines too perfect to be mere neglect. Whatever had driven out the previous occupants hadn't wanted anyone returning, and they'd left no witnesses behind. Her eyes tracked the perimeter, noting the missing gargoyles – removed with careful cuts, not broken violence.

Sister Hale's hand rested on her unholy symbol, fingers tracing its cold surface as she surveyed the ground beneath their feet. The stonework itself seemed to remember the violence that had cleansed it, leaving it sealed against what lay within. She glanced at Jeane and Silra, her expression a mixture of wariness and determination. "We go in together," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside.