"Caelen…" Eli's voice was tight as his gaze locked on the twisted stone forms clinging to the high arches. "I sense danger."
Caelen didn't hesitate. His stance shifted in an instant—weight forward, shoulders squared, the casual ease in his posture vanishing like it had never been there.
His hand dipped into his coat pocket.
Metal caught the dim light—then stretched, unfolded, and reshaped itself in a smooth flare of gold until a longsword gleamed in his grip, edges sharp enough to hum in the air. "Where?"
Eli's pulse hammered in his ears. His eyes locked onto one grotesque in particular—its cracked stone lips curled into a jagged grin, its empty sockets tilted toward him in unnatural awareness. "Everywhere."
The air itself seemed to shift—thickening.
A sharp, invisible spike hit Eli's senses from the left—fast, predatory, lethal—and heading not for him, but for Caelen.
"On your left, now!"
