The old hydro plant groaned like a dying beast as the dungeon portal sealed itself behind them. A cold wind blew in through the hollowed window frames, carrying the smell of wet concrete and rust. The sound of dripping water echoed somewhere deep in the structure.
Lucen shoved his hands into his coat pockets and exhaled, white vapor curling into the night. "'Well. That was a date to remember.'"
Varik didn't answer. He walked, steady as always, boots crunching across broken glass. His silhouette, broad-shouldered and unbothered, moved as though the fight had never happened.
Behind them, the other hunters still lingered in the gloom. Their whispers carried, sharp, urgent, desperate.
"…shouldn't be possible—"
"—he's lying about his level, has to be—"
"—Varik covered for him, why—?"
Lucen grinned faintly at the noise, tilting his head toward Varik. "'They're gonna talk whether you like it or not.'"
Varik didn't slow, didn't even look back. "Not to anyone that matters."
