They were like statues in a museum of failure. Ilsa stood with her useless rifle, her face a mask of furious disbelief. Zara was frantically tapping at her wrist-mounted computer, but the screen just showed a single, mocking error message:
"Action Not Permitted." Scarlett was frozen in her lunge, her muscles trembling with the effort of trying to move, her teeth gritted in a silent snarl.
Every ounce of her strength was being used to push against an invisible wall, and it wasn't budging.
Ryan felt a cold, creeping helplessness. His own power, the ability to shape reality itself, was gone. It felt like trying to shout in a vacuum. There was nothing for his will to grab onto, no reality to shape.
The Silent Minister watched them, her expression one of gentle pity, like a kind teacher watching her students fail a test they could never hope to pass.
