The moment Isolde's power vanished, the full force of the Redactor's mental assault crashed down upon them. The world distorted into a nightmare. Liam saw the face of his grieving father on one of the charging recruits. Ronan saw the taunting smile of the creditor he had manipulated. Cain saw his own reflection coming at him with a blade. Their coordinated defense shattered into three individual, panicked struggles for survival.
Isolde collapsed to one knee, her hand pressed against the bleeding wound. The dagger hadn't just been poisoned to kill; it was an alchemical concoction designed specifically to sever a Sealbearer's connection to their power. She was fighting a war on two fronts, against the poison in her veins and the one attacking her soul.
"We can't win this! We have to get out!" Cain yelled, shaking his head violently to clear the illusions. He was a scout, not a brawler, and he knew a losing fight when he saw one. He pulled two small pellets from his belt and threw them to the ground. They erupted in a blinding flash of light and a cloud of thick, disorienting smoke—a trick of his Perception path.
Seeing the chance, Ronan used a desperate [Fate's Knot] on a rusted valve on a nearby steam pipe. The ancient metal groaned and then burst, spewing a scalding cloud of hot steam that created even more cover and chaos.
"Liam, the schematics!" Ronan shouted through the hiss of the steam.
The command snapped Liam out of his confusion. He lunged for the control panel, grabbed the priceless proof they had come for, and rolled it into a protective tube. At the same time, Ronan and Cain hauled the now semi-conscious Isolde to her feet, supporting her weight between them. They retreated back through the gate they had entered, which was now groaning open—Ronan's lucky nudge on the pipe having also miraculously affected the gate's locking mechanism.
From the catwalk above, shrouded in steam and smoke, the Redactor watched them go. She made no move to stop them, a cold, unreadable expression on her forgettable face. She had wounded them, drawn their blood, and tested their limits. For now, that was enough.
They scrambled out of the sub-station and back into the dark, dripping maintenance tunnels. The sounds of battle faded behind them, replaced by the ragged sound of their own breathing and Isolde's shallow gasps. The poison was working fast. A deathly pallor had spread across her skin.
Ronan checked her pulse, his face grim. He looked at Liam, the steam and fog swirling around them in the oppressive darkness.
"We're not going to make it back to the Gearhouse at this pace," he said, his voice low and urgent.