The third layer stretched before them like the maw of some ancient beast, its walls alive with crisscrossing beams of lethal light that sliced through the air in unpredictable, chaotic patterns. Liam's pulse hammered in his ears as he crouched at the threshold, sweat stinging his eyes. One wrong step here and it wouldn't just hurt—it would end them.
'Stay sharp. No room for mistakes.'
He glanced at the girls—Citra's determined face, the others tense but ready—and felt that familiar knot of protectiveness tighten in his chest. These women had followed him into hell more than once. He wouldn't lose them here.
"Together, but on your own feet," he said, voice low and steady. "Run like your lives depend on it. Because they do."
They exploded forward.
