Mirra's MP bar was at eight percent and her hands were shaking and Noir's chest was rising with the slow careful rhythm, and the eastern gap was still producing elites at a rate that Midnight's flicker-strikes were slowing but not stopping, and Rogue was doing damage in the shadows that the spawning rate was eating as fast as he could make it, and the numbers were still wrong.
Then the shadows split.
Midnight came out of them, her shadow-walker form flickering between solid and present, and she hit the eastern gap from the inside with two shadow anchors placed with a precision that rewrote the spatial logic of the corridor entrance, collapsing the path the elites had been using into something that was no longer a path.
Thirty seconds of silence through the eastern gap.
"You owe me a meal," Midnight said, from somewhere near the ceiling, her voice unsteady in the way voices are unsteady when they have just done something they weren't sure they could do.
