Round 3

As Silra's fingers probed the jagged iron edges of the pit trap, a faint, cold seam beneath the dust revealed itself to her elven senses. She felt the metal latch shift in response to her touch, its release accompanied by the distant clang of falling stone. The hiss of steam grew louder, mingling with the acrid scent of ash and rust carried on the wind.

Jeane watched Silra's careful work with a cold assessment, her eyes narrowing as she took in the subtle changes in steam pressure and the echo of the city's pain through Renn's terrified gaze across the road. The key from the dead magistrate might unlock more than just doors, its secrets buried beneath the city's fall. As Jeane moved closer to Silra, her voice was low and measured, a warning to those who would follow.

Sister Hale stepped forward, her holy symbol clutched tight as she scanned the pit's edge with a cleric's stern gaze. "Silra, stand back – these traps are no trifle." She nudged the trigger plate beneath the ash with her boot heel, ready to leap back if it gave way. Renn's fear was useful, pointing to threats before they manifested, and Sister Hale's concern for his well-being was tempered by her duty to protect him.