She moves with a speed and fluidity that is breathtakingly professional. This isn't a student. This is someone who has fought for her life countless times. Her attack isn't clumsy or desperate; it's precise, efficient, and utterly lethal.
I don't even have time to process it. One second she's sitting on the floor, the next she's a blur of motion, the tip of her blade aimed directly at my heart.
Flynn reacts on pure, trained instinct. He lunges forward, a golden shield in a world of grey and black. He doesn't have a weapon, but he has himself. He throws himself in the woman's path, a human barricade.
The woman, to her credit, adjusts. She twists mid-air, an impossible, acrobatic feat that would make an acrobat weep with envy. She redirects her momentum, aiming a sharp, slicing kick at Flynn's head instead of a stab at my chest.
Flynn blocks it with his forearm. The impact is loud, a solid thwack of bone on bone. He grunts, stumbling back, but he holds his ground. "Whoa, hey! We're friendly!"
The woman lands in a low crouch, her blade held ready, her green eyes darting between Flynn and me. They're filled with a wild, terrified fury. "Lies!" she snarls. "You're one of them! The Tainted one! I can feel it! The stink of the Gloom is all over you!"
She's right, of course. But hearing it said like that, with such venom, is like a punch to the gut. The familiar, bitter taste of my own nature rises in my throat.
The Stasis Candle sputters, its light flickering violently as the woman's agitated state allows the soot-like residue to press in again. The shadows in the corners of the room deepen, writhing like living things.
"Whoa, whoa! We're rescuers!" Flynn holds his hands up. He's not even looking at the blade. He's looking at her face, his own expression open and earnest. "We're from the Order. We saw your light. We're here to help."
The woman's gaze flicks to him, then to Michael, who is frozen in terror by the door, his field journals clutched to his chest like a shield. Her expression doesn't soften. If anything, it hardens. "The Order sent children to a dangerous situation like this?" Her words are a mix of scorn and disbelief. "What a joke."
"Hey!" Flynn protests, stung. "I'm an Exorcist! So are they!"
"Then where are your lanterns? Your gear? Where is the senior Exorcist who should be leading you?" she counters, her blade never wavering. Her gaze settles back on me, and her lip curls in disgust. "And why, of all people, would they send the Tainted Blood?"
"We don't have much choice about what we send." I say.
Flynn shoots me a look that probably translates to something like 'don't tell her about the Order yet'.
Maybe he's right.
Telling her risks not getting any answers from her. If she takes it poorly - if she decides we're enemies or runs off ...or both, we're not going to get information about what happened here. We're not even going to get a chance to tell her about the crypt. She'll think we're a lie.
My gaze is steady as I meet hers. I've spent my entire life being looked at like this. Fear. Hatred. Suspicion. It's the one thing in this new, broken world that feels familiar. "Before we explain, tell us about what happened." I say, trying to keep my voice as level as I can. "You're a field agent. You survived. You know more than we do about this."
She's so startled that her blade actually lowers an inch.
"Tell us what you know," I continue, "and we will tell you what we know."
It's a gamble. A huge one. I'm banking on the fact that she's an Exorcist, and that duty, that insatiable need for intelligence and understanding, will override her fear and prejudice.
For a long, tense moment, the only sounds are the frantic sputtering of the Stasis Candle and the distant hum of the pressing darkness. Her green eyes bore into me, trying to pierce my soul, to find the lie she's certain is there. She looks from me to Flynn, to Michael, her mind clearly racing through the possibilities.
Then, with a sigh that seems to drain the last of her strength, the woman lowers her blade completely. She doesn't sheathe it, but the immediate threat is gone. "Call me Siena," she says, her voice flat. "And you'd better have a very good explanation for all this."
"We do," Flynn says, letting out a breath he probably didn't even realize he was holding. "But... he's right. Tell us what you know. First."
Siena's gaze is still locked on me. "Fine. But the Tainted one stays over there." She points a finger at a dusty corner of the room, far away from her and the candle. "I'm not taking my eyes off him."
I don't argue. I just walk over to the designated corner and lean against the wall, trying to look as non-threatening as a person controlling the Gloom possibly can.
Siena watches my every move. Once I'm in place, she finally turns her attention to the room, her shoulders slumping as the last of the adrenaline leaves her. She looks exhausted. Broken.
"My partner and I were investigating a spike in Gloom activity in this sector," she begins, her voice hollow. "We thought it was a standard migration. A new nest." She gives a bitter, self-mocking laugh. "We were wrong."
She walks over to the grimy window and peeks out through the grime. "We were tracking a pack of Ferals when we ran into it. A shadow dweller."
"Shadow dweller...?" Flynn asks, vocalizing the question I'd like to say but what would probably just derail her again.
She glances over her shoulder at him. "They're a rare Gloom Dweller variant. Less...conscious and more like a single cell organism. Like biofilm. They're fast, vicious, but they're still just animals. We've handled them before."
She turns away from the window and gestures around the room at the darkness clinging to the corners. "This was different."