Evelyn cut the first specialist before he managed to finish planting his rod.
The rise shook under a second swell, Outer God pressure rolling up the slope in thick, uneven waves. Around her the rest of Team Zero held their shapes, Lucy's hellflame roaring in controlled arcs across the interior, Marc crushing lanes on the right, Reia and Silas breaking the left whenever it tried to reform, Vyn keeping the local magic from turning fully hostile, and Lucian being a hard presence near the center, the kind the enemy already learned to be wary of.
Evelyn did not spend more time looking than needed to.
She was still angry, the argument about Alistair sitting in her ribs like a bruise that hadn't managed to decide whether it would fade or not. Every time Lucian's power flared across the crest, part of her registered it, filed it away, and turned back to the work in front of her. She did not need him to carry her section. She had no intention of giving the impression that she did.
