Elizabeth had been positioned in the analytical shadow of the engagement since the moment Lily's barrier first flared to life. She wasn't fighting with muscle or instinct; she was fighting with a cold, systematic taxonomy of magical architecture.
While the others felt the heat of the battle, Elizabeth was reading the dragon's energy as if it were a complex, decaying equation.
She moved with a rhythmic, unhurried grace through the narrow gap in the root barrier, a passage Nerith had held open with agonizing precision, a prenegotiated corridor carved out of living wood just for this moment.
"The bond link is running on a maintenance frequency," Elizabeth announced, her voice cutting through the heavy, ozone-scented air like a scalpel. "The rider has lost active command."
"The dragon is no longer being steered by a tactical mind; it is currently operating on pure, unadulterated base instinct."
