The core clamp turned Rook's command armor into a bad circuit. Every time the suit drew power from an emergency seal, the containment teeth caught part of the flow and sent it back through plates built to carry strength outward.
Nox lay beneath the archive stairs with the seizure spear still through his shoulder and upper chest. The pain made every breath narrow, while the command tether inside the weapon kept trying to drag his mana toward Rook's armor.
Rook stood in the center of the vault with one hand pressed to the clamp port. He could not pull it out without opening the command core to a surge, and he could not leave it in place while the six teams removed the permissions that stabilized him.
"You have no idea what follows this," Rook said through the damaged helmet. "The city will tear itself into private jurisdictions by morning."
"Then it gets to decide where the lines go," Nox replied, forcing his knees under him.
