"We take him," the woman said, voice cutting through the silence like a razor. "The artifact is ours. The Site is compromised."
She gestured at Lorik, a flash of steel catching the moonlight as though to stake her claim. Her face was pale with exhaustion, yet her stance betrayed no weakness. The Gravekeepers had come too far to surrender now. If Lorik possessed even a fraction of the knowledge they believed, they needed him alive—or at least conscious enough to answer their questions. The Tapestry's partial tear demanded it.
One of the Council enforcers scoffed, wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his gauntlet. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a harsh, angular face that had seen its share of conflict. A jagged scar marred his left brow, and his armor, once polished, was scorched and dented. "That's funny," he growled. "I was just about to say the same thing."