The guard didn't move at first.
He stood there with his rifle lifted, wrists tight, pulse beating high in his throat. Sera watched the little jump of it, the way his fingers tensed and relaxed on the grip.
He wasn't working through tactics or bravery. He was trying to decide if he was allowed to stop pretending he had any power at all.
She stepped up one more stair and let the distance between them close by inches. She didn't bare her teeth. She didn't threaten. She just waited and let him look at what was in front of him.
Behind her, the others filled the stairwell with quiet pressure.
Aerenyx brushed his fingers along the metal railing as if he were idly testing the texture. Rust bloomed under his touch in slow, crawling stains, the metal bruising and flaking without a sound.
He wasn't posturing for the guards. He was reminding the building—and anyone watching—that he could unmake whatever he wished without asking with just the touch of a finger.
