We didn't make it four hours.
We made it two hours and thirty-seven minutes before the wards started screaming.
Not literal screaming, magical screaming, which somehow was worse—this high-pitched resonance that made my teeth ache and the sigil on my wrist flare so bright I could see it through my shirt sleeve.
I was in the back office trying to sleep (failing miserably) when it hit. The binding jolted like someone had shocked it with a cattle prod.
Azryth was through the door before I'd even fully sat up.
"They're here," he said.
"Who's here?"
"Everyone."
That was not reassuring.
The main floor had transformed into organized chaos. Hunters moving with practiced efficiency, grabbing weapons, checking ammunition, pulling on tactical gear. Mara was at the monitors, Henrik barking orders into a radio.
"Sitrep," Azryth demanded, moving to Mara's side.
