The web around me flexed again as I strained against it, tighter than any chain.
I twisted my shoulders, braced my legs, tried to tear free, but it was useless. Every pull just made the thing cinch down harder, cutting into my skin through the uniform. It felt almost alive — a trap that learned, squeezing against every move.
No mana. No strength. Just grit. It wasn't enough.
Across the aisle, Jackal grunted under his breath, trying the same thing. Nova was still slumped unconscious nearby, her body rattling with every lurch of the jet.
The harpoons outside screeched again, dragging us in harder now, metal groaning loud enough to rattle my teeth.
Reya was the only one still standing. She ripped a knife from her belt, real steel, not a conjured weapon — and threw herself at the white-armored bastard without hesitation.
For a second, just a second, I thought she might pull it off. Her movements were sharp, focused, everything she had trained for compressed into a blur of motion.
