The journey back was a waking nightmare. Deep in the city's underbelly, they moved through a labyrinth of iron and stone, carrying a dying teammate. Every drip of water from a leaky pipe, every distant mechanical groan from the heart of Terminus, sounded like the footsteps of approaching enemies.
Cain took the lead, his usual cynicism burned away by a fierce, protective focus. He navigated the maze of tunnels by pure instinct, his Perception powers seeking the path of least resistance, the fastest and safest route to the surface. Ronan walked beside him, his senses stretched to their limit, feeling for any hostile shift in the [Probability Currents], any unlucky turn waiting for them around the next corner.
Liam helped carry Isolde, her body unnervingly light in his arms. He felt a profound sense of helplessness. His powers, so attuned to the inanimate past, could do nothing for the living, dying present. All he could feel was the echo of the poison spreading through her, a temporal wound widening with every passing second. Her connection to her Seal was fraying like an old rope.
"How is she?" Cain's voice was a sharp whisper from ahead.
"Her breathing is shallow," Liam replied, his voice tight with strain. "The poison… it's disrupting her Ahenk. I can feel it."
"If that connection breaks completely, she'll either become a Shattered One," Ronan said, the grim reality hanging unspoken in the damp air, "or she'll just… die."
After an eternity of desperate, stumbling progress, they saw it: a circular iron grate high above them, faint moonlight filtering through. A maintenance ladder, slick with rust and grime, led up to it. It was a way out.
"That leads to the old merchant's square," Cain said, his voice strained. "But it's a main thoroughfare. The Guardians patrol it regularly at this hour. They'll stop us. They'll ask questions we can't answer."
They were trapped. The long, safe route through the tunnels would take hours they didn't have; Isolde would be lost. The short, fast route to the surface would expose them and their mission to the city authorities.
As they hesitated at the bottom of the ladder, caught between two terrible choices, Isolde let out a faint, shuddering gasp. Her eyes fluttered open for a second, unfocused and dull, before closing again. Her breathing became even shallower.
They were out of time. They had to choose. And Ronan knew, looking at the threads of fate fraying into chaos around them, that either choice could lead to disaster.