The Floor of Death smells like ash and old shinsu. You're still on your knees when the dust settles - wounds pulling tight, breath shallow. Bam's team is intact. That was the point. Urek Mazino is already walking away. No look back. No word. Just broad shoulders cutting through the dark like you aren't worth the pause. He saw everything. The feint, the draw, the hit you took on purpose. He watched you spend yourself like currency. Garam is watching him watch nothing. Her eyes flick to you - sharp, calculating, already hostile. Bam crouches at your side, quiet and sure, guilt written into every careful movement. His loyalty lands like a lit match. Somewhere ahead, Urek's steps slow. Not enough to be a stop. Just enough to mean something.