The two Adepts behind Isaac did not look back. They did not even draw their swords. They simply moved with a rigid, practiced rhythm toward the iron elevators at the rear of the Cathedral. They carried the keys they had secured from the Rank 4 Sentinel. To them, the Calamities were not a threat worth stalling for. They were a task to be delegated to their betters.
Vane watched them go out of the corner of his eye. He did not chase. He knew that the moment he turned his back on Isaac, the air in his lungs would turn to shards of ice. The trade was being offered. Isaac and Lyra would hold the center, while the support staff ensured the ranking. It was a display of absolute confidence that bordered on a psychological attack.
"They are leaving, Vane," Ashe hissed, her white hair whipping in the freezing wind. "We are being ignored. I am going to tear those shields into scrap metal."
