The stale air in the lobby seemed to freeze, the world holding its breath around Harrion's gleaming, crazed grin like a beast waiting for the pounce.
Eamond felt every instinct in his body scream to run — to shield Garret, to flee, to save what was left of them — but he forced that panic down, strangled it. There was no running from a beast like this.
He stepped forward, planting himself between Harrion and Garret's limp form cradled in Vale's arms. Lysandra mirrored him, staff raised, every inch of her vibrating with cold, precise focus.
"Jake," Eamond ordered, voice low and hard as steel, "take the rear. Protect Syd and Garret. If Harrion breaks through, you stop him. Nothing gets past you."
Jake swallowed, sweat running down his temple, but nodded. "Yeah. I got them."
