"Alright, so… we're here," Adrian said, eyes flicking over to Sarah. "But how exactly do we get inside?"
Sarah turned, arching a brow. "You're just gonna make a hole in the wall with your magic, right? Isn't that what you do?"
Adrian blinked, caught off guard by her confidence. "What? No, it's not that simple. I don't even know what this wall's made of. I can't just guess and start carving holes."
He stared at the rough stone blocks, their surfaces pocked and weathered.
Sarah frowned, crossing her arms, clearly not convinced. "Then how'd you get in last time?"
Adrian exhaled sharply. "I climbed up and reshaped the window. Windows are made of glass and wood — that much I know."
"That makes even less sense," Sarah shot back. "Did you even know what kind of wood it was? If you didn't, how did you reshape it?"
Misha, leaning casually nearby, let a small smile tug at her lips — entertained by their back-and-forth like she was watching actors stumble through lines.
Adrian straightened, defensive now. "Look, wood's wood. The only difference is the ratio of cellulose, hemicellulose, and lignin, but I don't need to know all that. I just have to know what it's made of, not the exact proportions."
Sarah gave a dry laugh. "So if it were a rock window, you wouldn't be able to reshape it?"
Adrian's eyes widened like she'd suggested something ridiculous. "A rock window? Seriously? In this day and age? Are you even thinking?"
"Well, what if it was?" Sarah challenged, smirking.
Adrian rubbed his temples, visibly annoyed. "Listen—I just need to know what the material is. Most of the time, I do. And even if I don't, I can just blast it apart with mana—I've done it before, it's not that hard. But that's not the point." His voice dropped into something more grounded, almost patient. "What I'm trying to say is: let's sneak in, not blow a hole through the wall like idiots. Is that really so hard to understand?"
For once, it actually sounded like he made perfect sense.
Misha nodded quickly, stepping in before Sarah could retort. "I think he's right this time. In there, they've got way more husks than the two of you can take on. And I'm no fighter, so it's not like I'm going to tip the scale."
Sarah raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking between the two of them. But then she exhaled and gave a small shrug. "Alright. Since you said so, Misha."
Adrian flashed Misha a grateful look before turning toward the back of the church again.
"Now let's hurry," Misha said softly, her voice tinged with urgency. "I want to save Annie as soon as possible."
Adrian knelt and placed his palm flat against the ground, channeling mana through his fingers. The earth beneath them trembled faintly, and within seconds, solid stone began to rise—one step after another—forming a rough but stable staircase leading up to the rooftop.
"Let's move," he muttered without looking back.
The stairs held firm under their weight as they climbed. Once they reached the top, Adrian turned and swept his hand through the air. The stone unraveled soundlessly, collapsing into dust before sinking back into the ground like it had never existed.
At the rooftop window, Adrian pressed his palm against the glass and wood frame. The materials shifted under his control, reshaping into a clean opening just wide enough for the three of them to slip through.
They climbed inside, careful not to make noise.
"Alright, cast the invisibility," Adrian said, voice low but eager, eyes flicking across the dim interior.
Sarah's expression hardened. "Stay close to me," she warned, already reaching out. "My spell only covers a ten-meter radius. If you stray too far, you're on your own."
Without hesitation, she grabbed Misha's hand and tapped a single finger against Adrian's shoulder. Her eyes shut. Mana welled around her like a soft current, invisible to the untrained, but tangible in the way it thickened the air. After nearly a minute, the spell settled.
To any outside eyes—they no longer existed.
"Hmm… feels weird," Adrian muttered as he walked down the stairs to the hatch. Once at the bottom, two guards came into view again—different people this time, but still unmistakably husks.
Sarah and Misha followed close behind. Misha clung lightly to Sarah's hand, nervous about being attacked.
"Don't wander too far, moron. I just told you," Sarah whispered harshly, irritated.
"You don't have to whisper. They don't care about any sound unless it's the voice of the one controlling them," Adrian said, sounding casual. "Unless they're ordered to, they don't do anything."
To prove his point, he leaned against one of them. The husk suddenly lashed out, attacking the exact spot Adrian had just stood in. He dodged with ease and stayed on guard, but the husk made no further move.
"Well… guess they can still feel," Adrian muttered, chuckling to himself.
"Why don't we just kill them?" Sarah said, already pulling out a knife to throw.
"Stop," Adrian snapped, grabbing her hand in a vice-like grip. His tone turned cold, sharp. "They're just being controlled. Don't kill someone who can't control themselves—or someone who hasn't even attacked you."
The heat in his voice, the way he stood between the husks and the girls, the anger burning behind his eyes—it wasn't reckless. It was protective. And it caught Misha completely off guard.
She stared at him, wide-eyed. She'd never seen him like this—furious, yes, but with a sharp edge of empathy beneath it. His hand still gripped Sarah's firmly, jaw set, expression hard.
And gods… he looked good like that.
Her cheeks turned red before she could stop herself.
Why is angry Adrian kind of hot? she thought, clutching Sarah's hand just a little tighter—not from fear anymore, but to steady herself.
"Alright, I won't," Sarah said with a quiet sigh, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face as she lowered the knife.
They descended through the hatch, one by one, their steps echoing softly against the stone. The spiral staircase led them downward, deeper into the earth, past the remnants of Adrian's old escape. The jagged remains of the stone blocks he had conjured in desperation still clung to the walls and floor—cracked, scattered, long forgotten. Small chunks of rubble littered the path like discarded memories, but none of them spoke. None of them looked down. They just kept walking.