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Elzhbeta's mouth twitched. "Eventually. As we all do. I would prefer it to be after the door is finished."

“And I,” Elzhbeta said, “am no one’s pawn.” Her voice changed. “Right now, Idonea … you're a disruption.”

"That relic is for the daemon. It has always been for the daemon. The Order didn't understand what they were guarding. I did. I have spent years building the working that will deliver it correctly. I will not be the witch who arrives at the threshold with one tooth missing."

Before Idonea drew breath, Elzhbeta moved.

Her hand snapped forward with inhuman precision. A thin, gleaming blade flashed before Idonea even registered the attack.

White-hot agony tore through her ribs. The impact drove her back a step, then another. She clutched her side as warmth spread beneath her fingers. Blood ran slick over her palms, the taste of iron rising in her throat.

Elzhbeta didn't flinch. Her eyes were flat, unwavering.

“You see,” she said, “sometimes the only way to keep balance … is to remove the threat entirely.”

Idonea’s thoughts scattered.

Not here. Not inside the threshold where the Current lay silent. Not while Templars stood outside, close enough to save her, yet utterly unaware.

Pain pulsed with each heartbeat, stabbing and rhythmic. Elzhbeta stepped forward again, blade angled with ruthless intent.

Idonea forced her shaking fingers to tighten around her own dagger. She had no training, no strength to match this, but she'd no other choice.

As Elzhbeta struck again, Idonea lunged sideways. Steel met steel with a ringing crack. The force of it sent a shock through her arm. She stumbled, rolled, the floorboards scraping her palms as she twisted away from another downward slash.

She slashed upward on instinct, her blade skimming across Elzhbeta’s forearm.

Elzhbeta hissed, and withdrew a fraction, eyes narrowing.

Blood trickled down Idonea’s ribs. Each breath was a ragged, burning drag. She was weakening, limbs beginning to tremble. But she refused to collapse.

Another strike came, fast and precise. Idonea ducked under it, rolling towards the table leg. Her shoulder slammed into it, rattling the dishes. The noise was loud. It should've drawn attention.

Where are the Templars?

Elzhbeta stalked after her, steps slow, confident.

“Give in,” she murmured. “This only ends one way.”

Idonea pushed herself upright, her dagger raised despite the tremor in her hand. Her breaths came in shuddering bursts. The room swam, yet the world sharpened around Elzhbeta’s silhouette. Idonea steadied herself.

“I am no threat,” she said again.

Elzhbeta’s lip curled. “That relic is not for your taking.”

She lifted her blade for the killing blow.

Idonea’s mind raced. The dagger in her hand was impossibly light. It wasn’t meant to be a weapon. But it was all she had.

Elzhbeta’s blade swept towards Idonea’s ribs. Idonea twisted hard, the steel slicing through her sleeve instead of flesh. The momentum sent her stumbling sideways, boots scuffing across the floorboards.

Elzhbeta lunged again. Idonea sidestepped and drove her dagger into Elzhbeta’s arm.

Elzhbeta groaned venomously, and Idonea yanked the blade free.

The momentary opening was all she needed. She lowered her shoulder and slammed into Elzhbeta’s torso.

They crashed to the ground.