My Infinite System.

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.

A construct climbed over the broken shelf of stone and opened with a suppression field. Evelyn came in at an angle to let the field graze past her shoulder and drove a strike down through the joint beneath its primary core. The machine locked, shuddered, and went dark. She was already moving as the second tried to replace it.

”Left,” Reia’s voice snapped through the comm, not telepathy this time, just sharp warning.

Evelyn adjusted. Two specialists came in linked, rods crossed to form a short-range cage. She smashed the cage from the outside before it managed to close, put her elbow into the nearer one’s throat, and used his falling body to stop the other’s counter. A burst of hostile magic skidded off Vyn’s working somewhere behind her and dissolved into harmless static against the stone.

The fight did not favor her with clean openings.

It gave her scraps.

Hellflame washed past her right side as Lucy cleared a cluster near the interior. The heat licked close enough for Evelyn to feel it against her cheek before bending away without touching her. Trust, old and unspoken. That part still worked. Even when the rest did not.

A heavier unit forced itself up the center-left, erasure light running along its arms. Silas hit it first, took the opening discharge and staggered. Evelyn was there before the follow-up landed, jamming the construct’s strike line long enough for Silas to recover and tear its core housing free. He gave her a quick, blood-streaked nod as she returned it and turned back out.

Lucian passed through her peripheral vision like a moving wall. He broke a containment pattern aimed at Marc’s flank, did not look at her, and went back to the center. The small assistance landed cleanly. It also irritated her more than it should have.

She did not need saving.

She needed the enemy to stop coming.

They did not stop.

Lirael’s line adjusted under the direction of the warden, less reckless now, measured. Specialists stopped trying to overwhelm the crest in broad waves and started pressing isolation, cutting lanes, looking for the one person who could be peeled off the fight for leverage. Evelyn felt the shift immediately. So did Reia. A flicker of telepathic pressure brushed against the edge of Evelyn’s awareness, not intrusive, just shared realization of the pattern.

”They’re probing for split targets,” Reia said tightly.

”I see it.”

Evelyn hardened her section of the line.

Three specialists tried to draw her outward with a false retreat. She refused the bait and made them pay for the step they had taken in. One went down hard and the other two fell back into the shadow of a construct, which Vyn promptly crippled by inverting the magic holding its left frame together. Evelyn finished the machine with a precise strike through the exposed channel.

Breath burned in her chest. Her arms ached. Residual containment static clung to her sleeves like needles.

Still not enough reason to look toward Lucian for more than the next relevant move of the battle.

Lirael herself pushed closer to the crest, pale light gathering around her hands. The Outer God pressure thickened in answer, making the air harder to move through. Lucy answered with a vertical sheet of hellflame that forced the densest part of the advance to curve around the interior. Marc shouted something about the right anchors. Silas laughed once, short and wild, as he took another hit and kept standing.

Evelyn found herself opposite a pair of erasure-class units trying to shear into the space between her and Vyn. She met the first one directly, gritted her teeth through the contact discharge, and broke its lead arm at the joint. The second clipped her shoulder hard enough to send her to one knee.

For a fraction of a second Lucian’s attention snapped toward her.

A containment rod from a third angle shattered in the air before it managed to reach her back. Lucian’s work. Clean. Minimal. Already turning away again.

Evelyn’s jaw tightened. She shoved herself upright, ignored the flare of pain in her shoulder, and drove into the second unit until it stopped trying to erase the ground under her feet.

”I had it,” she muttered, too low for anyone else to hear.

Maybe she had. Maybe she would have. The assistance still landed unfairly in her chest, tangled up with the argument she had not finished and the history she could not put down.

The fight ground on.

Time stopped arriving in minutes and started arriving in exchanges. Evelyn killed another specialist. Lost ground by two steps. Took it back with Vyn’s help. Felt Lucy’s flame pass close enough to turn the air dry and bright. Heard Marc swear as a gravity shear nearly slipped. Felt Reia’s intelligence moving through the fight like a second set of hands, rearranging the intentions of the enemy just enough to make seams in their defenses.

Lucian remained the most terrifying presence on the rise, and she hated that she could still feel the truth of that even through her anger. The enemy oriented around him whether willing or not. Lirael’s attention kept dragging back to him. The Outer God pressure leaned heaviest where he stood.

Evelyn forced herself to treat that as battlefield information, nothing more.

A fresh construct surge hit her section. She met it with everything she had left in her arms and lungs, striking, turning, using the broken stone as elevation and cover. Blood ran freely down her left arm now from a cut she did not remember collecting. Her breathing had gone rough.

Still standing.

Still holding.

Lirael’s voice came thinly through the pressure at one point, cold and distant, issuing recalibrations. The line of specialists tightened again. The Outer God presence did not retreat. Neither did Team Zero.

Evelyn planted her feet on the crest and refused the next attempt to push her off it.

When Lucian moved through her edge of the fight again, breaking a linked rod pattern that would have closed around her ribs, she did not thank him. She used the opening, finished the nearest threat, and kept her eyes forward.

Anger could wait.

The fight could not.

Around her, Team Zero held the rise in fire, bent magic, broken geometry, telepathic disruption and raw immovable force. Evelyn held her part of it with blood on her teeth and the old hard clarity that had gotten her through worse endings than this.

The next wave started forming below the slope.

She lifted her head, set her stance, and prepared to meet it.

Whatever else was broken between her and Lucian, this part remained simple.

She was not done.

Neither were they.