Jason was still kneeling beside Gorr, hands pressed firm against the wound that wouldn't stop bleeding, his breath ragged, heart pounding like a war drum inside his chest. Gorr's blood soaked through his fingers, hot and sticky, and Jason's lips moved without sound, mumbling half-broken prayers to gods he didn't believe in.
Then came a sound—sharp, unnatural.
A hiss.
Like something burning.
He froze.
It came from the far wall—the door. The old wooden one sealed shut for what felt like hours. But now it was crackling, and a faint red glow had started to pulse through its seams. Then came the smell. The sharp, acrid scent of charred wood and hot metal.
Jason's heart thudded faster. His hand gripped the small bolt launcher on his belt. He stared at the door like it might come alive.
Then—whhhmm—a streak of flame cut across it.
Another. The burning hiss grew louder.
