The crimson seam in the western wall split wider with a sound like ice cracking under sudden weight. Temporal pressure poured through the gap in a dense wave that made the air in the chamber feel thick and slow. The linked anchor's integrity climbed without pause.
Thirty percent.
Thirty-three.
The mark on my forearm answered with a pulse that finished the work of cracking the thermal seal. Heat flared along the skin as the residual claim signature leaked into the open air of the chamber. Lydia's screening lattice shuddered under the combined pressure of the waking anchor and the observation teams forcing the maintenance door above.
Vale did not wait for further discussion. She triggered the first spatial anchor and laid a short-range displacement field across the base of the stair. The field would not stop a determined breach, but it would slow the first enforcers long enough for the rest of us to act.
