The white-hot arc of kinetic energy erupted from Verona's fingertips with the roar of a mountain gale. It was a raw, unfiltered strike, chiseled from the desperation of a sister and the pride of a Duchess. By seizing the moisture in the damp air and accelerating the molecules with a violent burst of her will, she had turned the oxygen in the cell into a weapon. The light filled the cramped stone room, turning the weeping walls into a blinding canvas of silver and gold. For a heartbeat, Verona felt a surge of triumph; she had funneled every ounce of her training into that single point of contact. Nothing human, no matter how armored, could withstand a direct hit of that magnitude.
But as the thunderous echo faded and the spots cleared from her vision, the silhouette of the hooded figure remained standing in the doorway, perfectly still.
