The medical team wheeled Rina through the corridors.
Each level they descended felt like entering another circle of security hell. Steel doors grew thicker, requiring multiple biometric scans and authorization codes.
Warning runes carved into reinforced walls pulsed ominous amber, their ancient script seeming to writhe in Kane's peripheral vision.
Staff members pressed themselves against walls as the medical gurney passed, their whispered conversations following in its wake.
"—spirit bomb in the building—"
"—evacuation protocols if—"
"—thirty floors of blast shielding—"
Kane's fox ears twitched beneath his glamour, catching fragments of fearful speculation.
Rina's condition deteriorated with each elevator descent. Her form flickered like a dying lightbulb—solid one moment, translucent the next, edges bleeding into the air around her.
The frost-webbing Isabelle had woven across her skin cracked further with each jolt of the gurney wheels.
